More Team Building
by AkamaiMom
Summary: What does the team do when they're not saving the world? They're regular people--oh yeah, and one Jaffa. This is the second installment in the series--a sequel of sorts to "Team Building". Just conversations about nothing. Each ficlet reads complete.
1. An Inconvenient Teal'c

_**An Inconvenient Teal'c**_

"What purpose does a 'gulp' serve, and why should it be big?"

O'Neill paused in his efforts to put the lid on his cup and threw a look over his shoulder at Teal'c. The big man looked out of place standing at the drink station of the convenience store, holding his red and white cup. He'd been staring at the vast array of soda options for several minutes, and still had yet to choose anything beyond cubed ice rather than crushed.

Before the Colonel could say anything, though, Teal'c spoke again.

"Is this beverage meant to be consumed in one single swallow?"

"No, T—it's just saying that it's a big drink."

"Then perhaps the better name for the serving would be 'Many Gulps Within One Large Cup'."

"But then it wouldn't sound as cool. 'Big Gulp'. It's a great name. Easy to say. Alliterative."

But still the Jaffa stood there, unmoving, cup full of melting ice in hand. Jack reached for and withdrew a long straw from the stainless steel dispenser near the lid rack, ripped the top off and blew the bottom half of the paper directly into the hole in the counter that served as a garbage receptacle. As he slid the denuded straw into the opening of his cup's lid, he heard Teal'c shift behind him.

"Perhaps it should be entitled the 'Medium Gulp'. Much as the 'Medium Popcorn' at the theater where we venture to view motion pictures."

"Why do you say that, T?"

Teal'c indicated the cup dispenser, where the bottoms of cups protruded from different sized openings. Above the 'Big Gulp' cups, were two other sizes of containers. "Because it appears that the 'Big Gulp' is not as voluminous as either the 'Super Big Gulp' or the 'Mega Big Gulp'."

"So?"

"So, therefore, the larger sizes of the other two containers render the adjective 'Big' in the title 'Big Gulp' somewhat impotent. The serving size is no longer 'big' if there are two others which are larger. Their relative size would then make 'big' seem 'small' in comparison."

Jack tapped the straw down, shaking his head. "Teal'c—just choose a drink. Fill the cup, stick a lid on, get a straw, and let's go. We're going to be late."

But Teal'c had taken a step back towards the tidy rows of flat white cup butts.

"Considering the prospective length of the soccer match to which we are in transit, and the ambient heat outside, I believe that the 'Mega Big Gulp' may be a more advantageous choice, O'Neill."

"You can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because you've already put ice in that cup. You can't put that one back."

"But ice is merely water. I have not dirtied this cup in any way."

"Teal'c—just fill the cup." O'Neill indicated the row of drink machines. "Choose one and let's go."

Still Teal'c didn't move. He stood, staring at the bright colors of the display from under the low brim of his Colorado Rockies baseball cap.

Jack sighed heavily. He pivoted to stand beside the Jaffa at the drink station. "What are you in the mood for? You like citrus, right? There's Orange Crush, or Lemonade, or Lime Coke. Or Mountain Dew is kind of citrusy—or Sprite, or 7-Up. If you're in the mood for cola, there's Coke, Diet Coke, Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, Dr. Pepper. You can have all of those without caffeine, if you like. Root Beer. There's Root Beer. You like that, don't you? Iced Tea? You've had that. And you can add cherry flavoring to any of those if you want—or lemon. Or look—there's one of those energy Monster drinks. You can have that if you'd prefer."

And still Teal'c stood, silent, unmoving.

"What's the hold up?"

Jack looked towards the voice to see Daniel came around a unit of shelving to stand near Jack, holding two bottles of some kind of canned sweetened frou-frou coffee. "Sam's done already. We're going to be late."

"I've been trying to convince Teal'c of that, Daniel." Jack raised his empty hand to indicate the Jaffa beside him. "He's having a bit of a problem deciding on which drink he wants."

"What're you in the mood for, Teal'c?" Daniel surveyed the long line of fountain dispensers.

"I've already asked him. He doesn't know." Jack took a long draw from his cup. He himself had chosen diet, but he'd mixed in just enough of the real thing that he could say it _wasn't_ diet. Soda choices were squirrely, if you asked him. Choose diet or caffeine free, and it was like drinking a wine cooler. Girly. He figured that two-thirds diet and one-third real made the whole thing real by default. Too much sugar to be considered good for you, not enough that it would negate the crunches he'd done that morning.

"Well, come on, Teal'c. Sam's already at the register."

Teal'c sighed, his massive chest expanding with the effort. He bobbled his hand a little, and the ice shook in the cup.

"I believe that this is not a choice to be taken lightly, Daniel Jackson."

Jack gestured with a flattened palm. "I was just thinking that exact same thing. And yet here I am. Soda in hand."

But Teal'c continued as if O'Neill hadn't spoken. "We will be engaged in viewing this soccer tournament for several hours. If my beverage of choice is too large, then I will need to leave the field of play in search for a lavatory. If it is too small, I will perhaps be left desiring more to consume, without any manner of accessing it."

Crap like that always sounded better in Teal'c's deep, melodious voice. Jack sighed and shook his head at Daniel, offering a slight shrug.

"Teal'c, she's going to do it again."

"She wouldn't, would she?" Jack narrowed his eyes at Daniel.

"Oh, I think she would—if only to avoid the wrath of Janet."

Jack considered, then nodded balefully. "Daniel's right, Teal'c. Carter _would_ hotwire the truck again and leave us here. She's done it before."

Yet, Teal'c inclined his head anyway. "That is also a factor to consider."

Daniel sighed, flinging an anxious glance at the Colonel. "Teal'c, I don't mean to rush you, but last time we almost missed Cassie's game, remember?"

"I do indeed, Daniel Jackson." He canted his head ever so slightly to one side. "However, I fail to see how the culpability of that instance falls on me."

"You were the one who couldn't decide which hat to wear."

"As I recall, it is General Hammond and the SGC who require me to don head-wear with which to conceal my tattoo. Were it up to me, I would not disguise the symbol of my people's oppression."

"Well, _yeah_." Daniel conceded, "But that doesn't mean that you have to match each hat you wear to a specific engagement. Sometimes, you just plunk something on your head and _wear_ it."

"One's clothing should always be appropriate for the occasion."

"Teal'c, I'm not saying that it shouldn't. I'm just saying that there are certain times when you just put something on—and it really doesn't matter what."

"And perhaps risk offending the parties with whom you are involved?" Teal'c cocked his brow and frowned sideways. "I should think that would be discourteous."

"No more rude than arriving late everywhere."

"But I am not late everywhere." He sighed, raising his head slightly. "Merely to those places where my choice of head-wear may be a topic of discussion, and therefore requiring of more thought."

"Teal'c. Gah!—" Jack waved his hands, sending a light spray of soda out of the top of his straw. "Come on. Choose a damned drink already."

Daniel lowered his chin and peered at Teal'c from over the tops of his glasses. "Teal'c—just choose one."

From behind them came the click of boot heels, and Jack took an unconscious step sideways. Around the same corner that Daniel had come, appeared an annoyed Carter.

"What's going on here?" She was using her 'Mom' voice.

Silence reigned for a few brief seconds before Jack pointed his free hand at Teal'c. "He can't decide what drink he wants."

"We're going to be late, Teal'c."

"So I have been told."

"So, come on." Sam moved forward, stopping next to Teal'c expectantly, fists on her hips. "Choose one."

"I have been in the process of that decision for quite some time, Major Carter."

"Yeah—I know. I've been waiting up there forever." She held up her hand, from which hung a plastic bag through which Jack could see a few bottles of spring water. "See? All done."

"I am too." Daniel raised his bottles.

"Me three." Jack wiggled his own cup. "We're just waiting on _him_." He indicated Teal'c with a nod of his head.

Sam turned her wrist and glanced at her watch. "We've got fifteen minutes until the toss. It'll take around seven minutes to get there, five minutes to find parking—and we still have to find a seat. Even if we leave right now, we're _still_ going to be late."

"Janet Fraiser will acquire seating for all of us. That has been her custom in the past." The Jaffa sounded certain.

"Teal'c." Sam pursed her lips, obviously struggling for control. "Pick one. Or I'm leaving without you."

Teal'c turned his head and glowered at her. "As you wish, Major Carter."

Stepping forward, he dumped the now-melted ice into the reservoir, then pressed his cup into the ice dispenser, waiting until it was around a third of the way filled. Then he took half a step sideways and aimed his container at the Dr. Pepper spigot. With a decided movement, he pressed the tab. When the froth reached the top, he stopped, waited for it to subside, and then finished filling his cup.

Sam sighed in relief when he finally turned towards the lid and straw area. He capped the cup, grabbed a straw, and lifted his Big Gulp in a mock salute.

"Thank you." Sam pivoted on the heel of her boot and clicked back around the shelving unit. Jack watched her go, then shadowed behind Daniel as he trailed Sam.

They'd made it to the door before they realized that Teal'c had not followed them.

"Where is he?" Sam raised her eyebrows, surveying the convenience store. "Where did he go?"

"Jack?" Daniel turned to the Colonel.

"How am I supposed to know? I'm not my Jaffa's keeper."

Daniel rolled his eyes and rose up on his tippie-toes, craning his head for a better look around the store. Suddenly, he rocked back on his heels, handed his bottles to Jack, and held up a finger. "Wait here."

He disappeared into the bowels of the store, only to reemerge a few moments later, grimacing.

Jack scowled at the look on Daniel's face. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not."

"What's he doing?" Sam's voice had transcended 'Mom' and gone straight into 'Junior High School Principal'.

Daniel scrunched up his nose and readjusted his glasses, finally meeting her eye after stalling as long as he could. "He's—uh—he's almost ready."

"What's he doing?" Sam asked again—more slowly.

"Well, the good news is that he's happy with his drink choice." Daniel gave a pained smile.

"And?" The Colonel prompted.

"The bad news is, now he's looking at snacks."


	2. Framed!

_**Framed!**_

"So, have you ever thought about it?"

Daniel looked up and squinted at the Colonel. "Thought about what?"

"The laser thing—you know—having that done on your eyes." O'Neill hefted his weapon and clipped it to the ring on his vest. "That way you could get rid of the glasses."

"Do you think I _need_ to get rid of the glasses?" Daniel raised said spectacles to his mouth, breathed on one of the lenses, and then lowered them. Grasping them between fingers covered with the tail of his t-shirt, he rubbed them clean. He squinted at Jack again as he raised them back to repeat the action with the second lens, his question still hanging between them.

"Don't _you_?"

"Why would I?" Daniel peered up at a light on the ceiling through them, checking for smudges. Apparently satisfied, he put them back on his face.

"Well, isn't it kind of inconvenient to wear them?"

"How so?"

The Colonel shifted, frowning. "Daniel, are you going to answer every one of my questions with your own? Because if you are, it's really annoying."

"Is it?" Daniel's eyebrows flew up. "I didn't know."

"Daniel." O'Neill turned sharply towards the other man. "Don't be an idiot. You know you were doing it on purpose."

"Do I?" If possible, they went even higher. "Because I really wasn't."

"Oh, please." O'Neill rolled his eyes and reached up to grasp the bill of his cap. Yanking it off, he scratched absently at his head before he yanked the hat back down with a movement infused with annoyance. "Yes you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"Oh, you _so_ were."

"No, I really wasn't."

"Daniel."

"Yes, Jack?" Daniel peered at O'Neill through clean lenses, his eyes wide with a baby owlishness that made Jack's trigger finger twitch.

O'Neill cradled his P-90 to his chest, cursing 'Gaterooms full of witnesses. Turning, he focused on the door into the 'Gateroom, but neither Carter nor Teal'c was passing through as of yet. He sighed heavily and wheeled back around to stare at the 'Gate.

Daniel took his glasses off again, and held them aloft. "I think one of the lenses is scratched."

"Now you see?" Jack turned to Daniel. "If you didn't have glasses, then you wouldn't have scratches on them, would you?"

"It's not a big deal." Daniel shrugged and reseated them at his temples. "I mean, all I have to do is go to one of those one-hour optometrists and they can put in new lenses."

"If you had that laser thing done, you wouldn't need new lenses."

"No, but then I'd have a laser cutting into my cornea."

"So?" O'Neill waved his hand dismissively. "It's a common procedure."

"Jack, it's a _laser_ slicing up your _cornea_." Daniel's eyes had transcended Baby Owl and gone straight into New Moon. "What's simple about getting your eyeball hacked to pieces?"

"Not to pieces—they just reshape it. Make it normal." Jack's hand made random circular movements in front of his face. "Then you'll be able to see without looking like Harry Potter."

"Who?"

"Harry Potter." Jack scowled. "Or are you too good for popular fiction?"

"No, I know who Harry Potter is." Daniel turned to fully gaze at the other man, mouth agape. "I'm just a little amazed that _you_ know who he is."

"What?" Jack shrugged. "I read."

"Really?" Daniel pursed his lips tightly. "You mean something besides the exploits of Tony the Tiger?"

O'Neill's eyes narrowed. "Watch it, Egypt-boy."

"What are we watching?"

They both turned to see Carter standing behind them, smiling pleasantly. "Seriously, guys, what are we watching? Because if you're going to insist on a horror movie again—"

"That wasn't me, it was Teal'c." Daniel raised a hand towards her, clarifying. "Don't be blaming your insomnia on me again."

"Insomnia?" The Colonel looked pointedly at Carter. "That movie gave you insomnia?"

"It was creepy." Despite herself, Sam shuddered. "I've never liked those movies."

"It was lame—"

"It was horrible." Carter hugged her weapon more firmly to her body. "I don't see how anyone can watch horror films. Body parts falling around, blood and guts everywhere, virgins getting chased by chainsaw-wielding bad guys—" Carter scrunched up her face, shaking her head violently—as if to dispel the images from her mind. "It's disturbing."

"It was completely unbelievable. There was nothing realistic about it at all." Daniel shrugged. "You could tell that all that blood was fake. It doesn't bother me if I know it's not real."

"Yeah, but still—it just oozed out of everywhere—and then that girl—with the neck thing—" Sam waved a hand at her throat. "And the bubbles. Gross."

O'Neill's expression turned from questioning to disbelief. "Virgins being chased by people with chainsaws?"

Carter frowned at him. "Sir?"

"You said virgins being chased by chainsaw-wielding bad guys."

"Yeah, sir. I guess."

"How do you know that they're virgins?"

"Aren't they all virgins in those movies?"

Daniel snorted. "Except for the ones that aren't." At Sam's look, he held up both hands defensively, his fingers curling into quotation marks. "You know—the ones that _aren't_."

Sam grinned. "Gotcha."

"What?" O'Neill flicked his gaze between them. "What are you getting, Carter?"

"The types, sir." She squinted slightly at him, then sighed when he didn't catch the implication. "In horror flicks, there are two kinds of girls—good girls and bad girls." She made a circular motion with her open palm, in an attempt to lead him to her point without actually having to state her point.

"I disagree." A deep voice resonated behind them. Daniel, the Colonel, and Carter all turned to see Teal'c walking towards where they stood at the foot of the ramp.

"What don't you agree with, Teal'c?" Daniel frowned.

Their fourth team member came to a stop near the ramp, planting his staff weapon firmly on the cement floor next to him. "I disagree with the notion that, in movies of this genre, the only females depicted are those who are promiscuous and those who are not."

"Oh?" The Colonel canted his head to one side. "Do tell, Ebert. What other kind of female is depicted?"

Teal'c's mouth curved upward in the barest hint of a smile. "Stupid ones."

Carter rolled her eyes. "Thanks, Teal'c. That's really great. So, what are the criteria for differentiation?"

Teal'c regarded her in great seriousness before responding. "They are also the dead ones."

O'Neill sighed deeply, adjusting the weapon on his chest. "But that's not really the point, is it?"

"The point of what, sir?"

"This conversation."

Sam frowned. "What do you mean? We were talking about horror movies, and Teal'c is correct. The stupid people in horror movies are usually the ones that end up dead, right?"

Jack shook his head. "No—I meant the Harry Potter thing."

Daniel's head drooped forward in an age-old display of frustration. "Just drop it, Jack."

"Drop what, O'Neill?" Teal'c inquired.

"Daniel was thinking about getting laser surgery so that he wouldn't look like Harry Potter anymore."

Sam grinned, even while she shook her head. "But Daniel doesn't look like Harry Potter."

"Thank you, Sam."

But she only grinned more widely before continuing. "Much."

"At all." Daniel stated—flatly.

Sam passed a kind, yet honest, look at her friend. "Well, you've got to admit, Daniel, that the glasses are a little boy wizard-ish."

"No, they're not."

"Round frames, always a little crooked—come on, Daniel, you have to see it."

"My glasses are not always crooked."

"Yes, they are." Sam nodded, blue eyes innocently wide.

"No, they're not." Daniel insisted. "They're just—_there_. Not crooked—they feel fine."

"Perhaps it is your face that is crooked, Daniel Jackson."

It was the Colonel's turn to grin. Shifting his attention from Teal'c to the archaeologist, he said, "Yeah, Daniel. You have a crooked face."

"I do not." As if that settled anything at all. Anxious to escape scrutiny, Daniel turned and stared up at the Control Room. "What's taking so long up there?"

"Synchronous trans phase modifier's acting up." Sam followed his gaze over her shoulder to where Walters was working at his terminal. "I rerouted the lagging volt-amperes, but it still seems to be futzing out."

"Futzing?" O'Neill gaze narrowed as he looked at the Major. "Would that be the strictly scientific term for it?"

"Excuse me sir?"

"Futzing out." He jerked his head toward the large observation window. "Your transmogrifier. Is the futzing a scientific thing, or what?"

"Trans phase _modifier_, sir." Carter couldn't quite control the small smile that passed over her face.

"That's what I said."

"No, you didn't. You said 'transmogrifier'."

"So, what's the difference?" It was obvious from his tone that he neither wanted nor expected an answer.

Carter pursed her lips against the smile that threatened to spread, and turned her attention to her boots. Other members of the team, however, weren't bound by such strictures.

"A stuffed tiger." Teal'c motioned with his staff weapon. "And a precocious young male child of the Tau'ri."

Daniel laughed out loud, removing his glasses once again and peering at them earnestly.

"What's that, Daniel?" The Colonel watched him breathe once again on the lenses. "What exactly was so funny?"

"Calvin and Hobbes."

"What about them?"

"Sam mentioned a phase modifier, and you said, 'transmogrifer'." Daniel looked from the Colonel to the Jaffa standing next to them. "Then Teal'c brought up Calvin and Hobbes—because Calvin is always building his transmogrifiers—the machines that supposedly make him into something else. You see? Stuffed tiger, precocious male child." His voice trailed off as he realized that the Colonel hadn't followed their mental ramblings. "So, yeah. Calvin and Hobbes. Cartoon characters. "

Silence fell, awkward and complete amongst the team.

After an interminable moment, the Colonel quirked his eye brows slightly and shrugged. "Well, good then. Because for a minute there, I thought you were talking about John Calvin, the 16th century Reformation theologian from France, and Thomas Hobbes, an English political philosopher from the 17th century."

"Uh, no." Daniel put his glasses back on yet again.

"Because I really doubt that either of them had any kind of dolt vampires." He skewered Daniel with a look of gleeful condescension. "Lagging or otherwise."

Sam laughed and looked up from her boots. "Good one, sir."

Daniel groaned and glared at Sam. "I thought we agreed not to encourage him."

"What?" She smiled again. "It was funny."

Jack's smugness overflowed. His self-satisfied smile grated. "See, Daniel? I do have some good ideas from time to time."

"Like the time you had cake with Kynthia?" Daniel pushed his glasses up his nose with his index finger. "Tasty, was it? Satisfying?"

Teal'c actually snorted. Sam turned to the Jaffa just time to see the single dimple disappear from his cheek as he quelled his smile.

"Oh, right. How about you, Daniel? Chatting up the Linnea—Destroyer of Worlds?"

"Her memory had been lost, Jack. She didn't know who she was."

"Yeah—good thing. Because otherwise she could have been the Destroyer of Pants."

A deep crease formed between Daniel's eyebrows as he frowned. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Oh, that's right, Daniel." Jack readjusted his gun, turning his body towards Daniel. "She wasn't attracted to you because she couldn't get around those big enormous glasses of yours."

"What is it with you and my glasses, Jack?" Daniel threw out his hands in frustration. "I mean, ever since I walked in here, that's all you've been talking about!"

"Guys!" Sam held out both hands, palms up, at her team mates. "Sir—Daniel. Come on. Let's just—for once—have a snark-free mission?"

Daniel and Jack glared at each other for a minute before turning to stand, stony-faced, staring at the 'Gate.

"Okay, then." Carter nodded. "I'm going to go on up to see if I can give Walter a hand." She turned to stand in front of them, catching both of their gazes in turn. "Behave yourselves."

Her footsteps punctuated the order.

Several minutes passed before O'Neill threw a look over his shoulder. Carter's head was visible above the control desk, but she wasn't watching him. He turned to Daniel.

"Contact lenses?"

"Eww." Daniel involuntarily quivered. "Poking things into my eye again. That's—just—_no_. Can't do that."

"Carrots?"

"Carrots?"

"Yeah—aren't carrots supposed to be good for your eyesight?"

"They're not like penicillin, Jack. You can't take them until you're cured." Daniel tilted his head sideways. "Besides, I that that's an old wives' tale."

"Indeed it is." Teal'c droned from behind them. "I have eaten many carrots while here at the SGC, and I have noticed no significant improvement in my vision."

"Do Jaffa have bad eyesight?" Daniel ducked his head, his brows furrowed over narrowed eyes. "Wouldn't the symbiote protect against that kind of thing?"

"Indeed it does. However, one would assume that, given the purported positive effects of carrots, consuming them would then build upon otherwise satisfactory senses to make them even more acute."

Daniel nodded, "I see your point."

Jack sighed and peered up into the Control Room again, but Carter had disappeared. He pursed his lips and leaned back on one foot, scuffing the floor in front of the ramp with the toe of his boot.

"So, Daniel."

"Yeah, Jack?"

"All that time you spent in the sarcophagus."

"Yes." Daniel sighed. "On Shyla's planet."

"Yeah—there." Jack fiddled with the brim of his hat. "Shouldn't you have perfect vision now? Doesn't the sarcophagus cure all ailments?"

Daniel went completely still. For a full minute, he stared straight ahead, not even hinting at a look sideways, where the Colonel stood, the smug smile brilliant on his face.

"So, logically, you shouldn't need the glasses any more at all, right?"

"Um." Daniel coughed. Twice.

Without warning, the 'Gate began spinning, and Walter's voice began to blare over the intercom. As the dialing sequence reached the fifth Chevron, Carter reappeared in the 'Gateroom, coming to a halt amongst her team mates.

"Okay guys—still playing nice?"

O'Neill's expression exuded innocence. "Oh yeah. I'm _always_ nice."

"Good." She smiled, nudging Daniel's arm. "How about you?"

"Fine." Daniel blurted the word out grudgingly.

The Ka-whoosh lit up the 'Gateroom, and the Colonel started up the ramp and disappeared through the event horizon, followed by Teal'c. Sam watched as Daniel hung back, obviously bothered by something.

"What's wrong, Daniel?"

"How did he know?"

"Who?"

"Jack. The Colonel." Daniel shook his head, his eyes wide. "How did he know about my glasses?"

"What about them? The fact that they're useless?"

Daniel turned his head sharply to stare at Sam. "Does _everyone_ know?"

"No—only some of us. Me, the Colonel, Janet. Teal'c." Sam laid a hand on her friend's arm. "It's not a big deal. You like wearing glasses. None of us care."

"Well, obviously the Colonel cares."

"Oh—well." Sam dismissed that with a flare of her hand. "Ignore him. He just being _him_, you know?"

Daniel nodded. "I _do_."

The shimmer of the event horizon beckoned, but still Daniel stood silent at the base of the ramp.

"Come on, Daniel." Sam urged him forward. "Let's go."

But still, Daniel just stood there. Sam turned to face him. Blue eyes captured blue eyes.

"Look, Daniel." She lowered her chin slightly, confidentially. "I know why you wear them."

"Why do you think?"

"Because they're part of who you are. You identify yourself by them. Like me with my short hair." She smiled. "Remember when the Alternate Reality Samantha came through with long hair?" When he nodded, she continued, "Well, it was easier to see her as _not_ me because she identified herself as a long-haired person."

"You're right." Daniel inclined his head. "I do identify myself that way."

"So, come on. Let's go." She turned and started up the ramp, looking sideways at him when he caught up with her. "Who cares if you want to wear useless glasses?"

"Right. Thanks, Sam." Daniel blessed her with a genuine smile. "I really mean it. You're a good friend, and I appreciate it."

"You're welcome, Daniel." Sam beamed. They stepped through the 'Gate at exactly the same time.

----OOOOOOO----

Daniel descended the steps and started walking towards the village with Teal'c, anxious to see a monolith that stood in the center of the town square.

The Colonel lingered, however, until the wormhole flared out, watching Carter fiddle at the DHD.

Flinging a look at the diminishing backs of Teal'c and Daniel, he sidled up to his second in command.

"So, did you ask him?"

Carter grinned. "Oh yeah. I asked."

"Was I right?"

"Yes, sir." She bit back a laugh, bringing herself upright to meet the Colonel's eye. "You were right."

"So he _does_ wear them for that reason?" O'Neill shook his head, grinning. "The little doofus."

"Well, he didn't say it out loud, but it was pretty obvious."

"Wow."

"Yep. Daniel still wears the glasses because he thinks they make him looks smarter."

The Colonel sighed and shook his head. "Wow." He repeated.

Carter thrummed her fingers against her weapon briefly before tweaking her head towards the village. "Let's go?"

"Yeah."

They'd walked a ways before the O'Neill nudged Carter with his shoulder. "What, sir?"

O'Neill grinned. "When are you going to tell him that it doesn't work?"


	3. Turning Cheeks

_**Turning Cheeks**_

"You know, has it ever occurred to you guys that we all have the same birth defect?"

Daniel sat by the fire, warming his MRE on a heated rock. He possessed the unique ability to eat anything, anywhere, at any time—but he preferred his prepackaged glop heated. It had been quiet for several long minutes as the team had prepared for their off-world meal.

"What do you mean?" Sam opened her meal packet, and then held it in both hands, steeling her stomach. Shaking her head slightly at her companion, she said, "I don't have a birth defect."

"At my birth, all went well, Daniel Jackson." Teal'c spoke from the opposite side of the fire. "There was nothing at all flawed about the manner in which my mother expelled me from her body. She stated many times as I grew that she performed that womanly duty well and with great strength of will." Teal'c smiled slightly in memory, his expression contemplative.

"No, Teal'c—a birth defect." Sam paused in stirring her MRE, looking up at the Jaffa. "Sometimes, when babies are born, something is wrong in how they have formed in their mother's uterus, and their bodies aren't normal. So, imperfections present at the time of birth are known as birth defects."

"What sort of things may be amiss with human children at the time of their birth?"

"Um—blindness, missing limbs, deformities in their organs." Sam frowned. "It's really quite sad. Modern medicine has made huge strides, but it's still not enough for some formational problems. They can be serious enough that the babies don't survive."

"But there are other problems that aren't that big a deal." Daniel pointed at Sam with his plastic spoon. "Like eyes that are different colors."

"Birthmarks." Nodding, Sam studied the sky, as if looking for answers. "Uh—flat feet. Nearsightedness. You know, that sort of thing."

Teal'c considered this information with his customary stoicism, then nodded. "Was there not a civilian staff member employed at one point in the SGC who was abnormally small of stature?"

"Yeah." Daniel pointed with his spoon. "She had something known as dwarfism. It's more common than people would guess—and you never know if your child will have it, although it's largely genetic, I think. If you are a dwarf, then you are more likely to have a child who is a dwarf."

"Dwarf." Teal'c tried the word out on his tongue, his deep voice rolling it out into the night. "Such as in the story about the young girl Snow White."

"Well, yeah." Daniel nodded, then hunched his shoulders in a quasi-shrug. "Although that's a fairy tale."

Teal'c's face took on a patient expression. "But it is _not_ a tale about fairies, Daniel Jackson. It is an account concerning the young woman named Snow White and her life amongst the dwarf people."

"Dwarves, Teal'c. Snow White and the Seven _Dwarves_. And they like to be called 'Little People'." Sam finished stirring and tentatively took a bite. She'd been leery of MREs ever since they'd received a shipment of the rations labeled 'chicken' instead of the correct 'enchiladas'. When the food arrived unrecognizable and smelled funny just on principle, the only hope was that the label on the outside of the package actually sort of approximated what was on the inside.

"Then why was the story entitled 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarves'?" Teal'c sat up straight, his expression questioning. "When a more appropriate title would have been, 'Snow White and the Multitudinous Little People'?"

Sam threw a quick glance sideways at Daniel, but he had already ducked his head. She could tell from the way he was swiping at his nose that he was trying to hide a grin. He probably didn't want to seem to be laughing _at_ Teal'c. Coward. "Um." She turned back to Teal'c. "I guess because at the time that the Grimm brothers wrote that, people weren't into Political Correctness."

Teal'c frowned. "That terminology is used by the Taur'i frequently, however, I must admit that I have seen little of Earth politics that is in any way correct."

"You got that right." Daniel grinned again, more openly this time, since the expression wasn't made at the expense of his team member. "But what Sam's talking about is the practice of giving things names that might not be considered offensive."

"I see." Teal'c raised a brow, nodding. He clearly didn't see.

"Sometimes when something is obvious, calling attention to that thing can be hurtful to someone. Like if someone is heavy—large boned—"

"Hefty." Daniel interrupted. "Sizable. Portly. Full figured. Plump."

"Chubby." Gesturing with the hand holding her MRE packet, Sam nodded. "Or whatever. You can't just refer to that person by that trait."

"I do not understand that part of the human thought process. It would seem to me that the most efficient manner of reference would be the most obvious physical peculiarity possessed by a person. One should not shy away from being known by that which makes them most recognizable."

Daniel thought about this briefly before answering. "Sometimes it just gets mean, though, Teal'c. Larger kids get made fun of for being fat, and small kids get teased for being wimpy. And there always seems to be one skinny kid with a bowl haircut and glasses in every third grade class. And somehow that kid is always labeled as a nerd."

"Geez, Daniel, there's one of those guys on every SG team." The Colonel wended his way in from the darkness surrounding them and plunked himself down next to his pack. "Thanks, by the way."

"You're welcome." Daniel's brows arched. "For what?"

"For filling the quota in our team." The Colonel grinned. "We could have gotten stuck with someone _much_ geekier."

Daniel shoved the glasses back up on his nose with an exasperated sigh. "I said nerd, Jack, not geek."

"Yes, well. Six of one, half dozen of the other."

"They aren't at all the same thing." Daniel shook his head, his eyes narrow.

"Geeks and nerds?" O'Neill smirked. "Like Granny Smith and Red Delicious, is all."

"I know of no scientists on Stargate teams by those names, Colonel O'Neill." Teal'c unwrapped an energy bar and inserted half of it into his mouth.

"No, T—they're kinds of apples."

Teal'c swallowed heavily, and then canted his head to one side. "Why would either geeks or nerds resemble pieces of fruit?"

The Colonel snorted. "It happens more often than you'd believe, big guy."

"I see." But he threw a quick, quizzical, look at Carter before polishing off the second half of his energy bar.

Sam sighed. "Colonel O'Neill is making reference to a common Earth slang for people who are considered odd or different. Sometimes those people are called 'fruits'."

Teal'c chewed slowly, thinking. "And so his theory holds that geeks and nerds are different styles of the same thing—much as Granny Smith and Red Delicious are different forms of the same fruit."

"Yeah—that's right, Teal'c." Sam smiled. Bravely, she served up a spoonful of her meal and took a bite.

"And being a geek or a nerd is a birth defect."

Sam snorted, then choked on her food. Daniel immediately leaned over and pounded her several times on the back before she waved him away and reached for her canteen.

The Colonel nodded wisely. "You got it right, Teal'c. Good going."

"Being a nerd or a geek is not a birth defect, Teal'c." Daniel turned his attention back to the Jaffa. "Jack is just being a jerk."

"I'm not a jerk."

"Yes, you are."

"Carter? Am I a jerk?"

Sam paused in drinking from her canteen, casting a wide, nervous look around. "Um—do I really have to answer that?"

"Yes." Both Daniel and O'Neill answered at the same time.

"Because I'd really rather not."

"That's because you think he's a jerk."

"No, it's because she wants to spare your geeky feelings, Daniel."

"Guys!" Sam held up her spoon hand. "Come on. We've got a lot to do tomorrow, and we need to get some sleep."

"She's right, Jack. We need to get some rest before these negotiations tomorrow."

The Colonel sighed and rifled through the pack at his side, pulling out a plastic-wrapped package. "I still don't get why we get sent to these things. Aren't there SG teams that are specially trained for this sort of meet and greet?"

"SG-9 is normally the negotiating party in situations such as these." Teal'c tore open a packet of dried apricots.

"Then why did Hammond send us, instead?" Daniel lowered a hand and picked up his canteen. Unscrewing the lid, he took a long drink and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Surely they're better at the diplomatic stuff than we are."

"Speak for yourself." The Colonel was kneading his meal. "I'm diplomatic."

This time, it was Carter that ducked her head, hiding her snort. Unable to control the rueful smile that twisted her lips, she hurriedly put herself to tying a bootlace. Did it matter that she had to untie it first?

"What?" O'Neill opened the packet that contained his fork and spoon. He watched as the major's shoulders quietly shook. "And what have we said about giggling, Carter?"

"Not giggling, sir. Tying." But she still didn't look up.

"Liar." He shook salt from a tiny paper envelope onto his meal and stirred it around. "You know you can be court-martialed for that."

"Yeah, but it'd be worse if she told you what she really thought of your diplomatic ability." Daniel screwed the cap back on his canteen. "You're liable to shoot her."

"I wouldn't shoot her." O'Neill watched as she finished with her lace, then considered the strange gleam in her eye when she finally lifted her head and met his gaze. "Zat, maybe. But not shoot."

Carter raised a brow. "Thanks, sir."

"Yeah," the Colonel continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Shooting's way too much paperwork."

"Again, sir, thanks." She nodded and fished the last of her meal out of the package. As gross as it was, it was still a known commodity. Unlike the food which would presumably be presented to them at the morning meeting.

Teal'c, having finished eating, wadded up his garbage and placed it into the same plastic bag in which it had been packaged. Stowing it into his backpack, he loosened his vest, then lowered himself off the log he'd been sitting on and arranged himself into the Jaffa version of the Lotus position. His turn at watch would come last—and he obviously intended to attempt to kel-norim first.

"Anyhow." Daniel busily packed up his garbage, too. "What I was saying before was that we all have the same birth defect."

Teal'c opened one eye. "But Daniel Jackson, we have already ascertained that I am a perfect specimen of a Jaffa in his prime. I have no defect to speak of."

Daniel glanced at Sam, who returned his slight smile. "Yeah, well. We know that you are indeed a fine example, but the fact remains that we all have them."

"Them?" O'Neill lowered his canteen and cast a wary look at Daniel. "What them are you talking about?"

"I'm curious, too, Daniel." Sam leaned forward, balancing her face on her upright fist.

Daniel grinned, triumph aglow on his face. "Dimples. We all have dimples."

"Dimples?" The Colonel ran a hand over his face. "I don't have dimples."

"Well, right now you don't, but you do when you're smiling." Daniel paused in the act of laying out his sleeping bag. "And the rest of us do, too."

"I know—I've always hated them." Sam groaned. "My mom used to do my hair in these little ringlets and dress me up in frilly dresses and people would comment about how much I looked like Shirley Temple."

O'Neill's grin brought out his defects. "Yeah, but it's worse when you're a boy."

"How so?" Sam watched as his dimples disappeared along with his smile.

"Because it's always older women coming up to you, and sticking their fingers in your cheeks, and cooing at you." The big, bad Colonel shuddered. "That's torture to a kid."

"You're telling me." Daniel nodded as he unzipped his bag. "And when you have longer hair, people assume you're a girl."

A stunned expression on her face, Sam laughed as she asked, "You got mistaken for a _girl_?"

"Well, yeah. We were on digs in the middle of the desert all the time, so my hair would get really long, and then we'd come back to the States, and people would look at the dimples and hair and think—girl. I was always _Danielle_ on return flights home."

"I don't think that's all they were looking at, Danny." O'Neill unzipped his vest and shrugged out of it. "It's those big blue eyes, too. And those eyelashes."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I've heard the women on base, Daniel. They do talk about your eyelashes." Carter gestured towards the Colonel as he nodded. "You have to admit it—they're really long."

"It's not like I do it on purpose." A disgruntled Daniel was a whiny Daniel.

"No—I know." Sam shrugged. "But you do have quite the following because of them."

Daniel shook his head slowly, staring up at the alien sky. "I don't know whether to be flattered or grossed out by that."

"You should hear what they say about your butt." Sam grinned, then nodded when his attention turned sharply to her. "Really."

A movement from Teal'c drew their gazes to the Jaffa. Eyes narrowed, he studied them all warily. "What are these _dimples_ of which you speak?"

The Colonel stuck both index fingers into his cheeks, creating cavities. "See? Dimples."

"I see." The Jaffa raised a brow. "Indeed I am in possession of these dimples. However, when I was a child, my mother told me that they were Tol'k'tec kol Goa'uld."

"Hand marks of the Gods?" The translator translated.

"Fingerprints of the Gods, in this instance, Daniel Jackson." Teal'c relaxed his posture slightly, a smile hovering about his lips. "As a young child, I asked my mother about the marks on my cheeks. She told me an old Jaffa legend that at birth, each child is evaluated by their God. He would lower his hand and grasp the face of the Jaffa offspring, and turn it from side to side, as if to judge the infant's worth." He paused, remembering. "She then told me that those children of particular strength and ability would fight the God—not wanting to bend to his will. The God would strengthen his grip, leaving marks in his cheeks where his fingers had pressed."

Daniel, fascinated, held out a hand, palm up. "So the marks became known as Tol'k'tek kol Goa'uld—the 'Fingerprints of the Gods'." He grinned wide, eyes huge behind his glasses. "That's really interesting, Teal'c."

"I did not know until tonight that these marks are only an accident of birth."

"Yeah—it's something having to do with a double zygomaticus major muscle." Daniel removed his vest and stood, toeing off his boots. "Or something—I looked it up on the internet the other day. I just kind of thought it was interesting that we all have them."

"It is interesting, Daniel." Sam smiled at him, then stood. "I've got first watch—Colonel—you're second?"

"Yep, Carter." O'Neill was already settling into his sleeping bag. "Then Daniel."

"Then I will take the last watch, Major Carter."

"All right then, campers, bunk up."

----OOOOOOO----

Camp packed up, the Colonel and Teal'c had already headed out towards the village, while Sam stayed behind to make sure that the fire had been fully extinguished. Daniel helped her shovel dirt over the coals, then knelt to put a hand on the mound, feeling for heat.

"I think it's good." Daniel looked up to see Sam staring at nothing in particular, a faint smile wafting across her features. "You okay?"

"What? Sam focused on him, then shook her head slightly as her smile widened. "Oh yeah—I'm fine—thanks."

"Something funny?"

She chuckled, then reached down and hefted her pack onto her shoulders. "Kind of. I was just thinking about the dimple conversation from last night."

"Yeah—it's kind of weird that all four of us have them, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but that's not what I was laughing at."

"Oh?" Daniel's tone and raised eyebrows prompted her to continue.

"Well, when you're a woman of a certain age, things start to get a little—shall we say _loose_—here and there."

Daniel frowned slightly. "Yeah—so?"

"Well, I was just thinking that if Teal'c's theory about dimples holds true—"

"That they're the Fingerprints of the Gods?"

"That's the one." Sam nodded as she secured the pack's belt around her waist. "If it's true, then I have one more bone to pick with the Goa'uld."

Daniel shook his head and smiled wide. "I don't understand."

"Well, like Teal'c said—dimples are left by their fingers."

"Yeah—"

"So one of those dill-weed snake-heads left his fingerprints all over my butt."


	4. Career Day

**Career Day**

"I fail to see the purpose of this exercise."

"It's tradition, Teal'c."

"It would seem to be more traditional for these children to avail themselves of their parents' knowledge in the home." Teal'c's dark eyes surveyed the assembled throng in front of them. "Rather than inflicting it upon their companions in this manner."

"It's just an opportunity for the kids to see different occupations and see if they would be interested in them."

"Can they not explore these vocations on the internet?" Teal'c crossed his arms in front of his massive chest. "It seems that youth of the Tau'ri spend an inordinate amount of time engaged in its exploration."

"It's not the same as having someone explain the job." Carter leaned slightly in front of the Colonel to whisper at the Jaffa. "And Cassie was required to ask someone to come present something. It's part of her social studies grade."

"Doctor Fraiser would have been the logical choice." Teal'c, obviously, felt no compunction to whisper. His deep voice carried far enough for several kids on the back row of seats to turn and regard him with thinly-veiled interest.

"Doc Fraiser's on P5F-Something with SG-15, so Cassie asked me to come to this year's presentation with her. Not a big deal, Teal'c." The Colonel shrugged, adjusting his stance at the back wall of the room.

His suit itched, and he stifled the urge to strip off his jacket, since the combination of the late afternoon and the multitudinous hormonally-charged bodies shoved together like so many sardines had turned the auditorium into a sweat-lodge. He settled for jiggling a little at the wall, surreptitiously scratching his back on the rough bricks of the building.

"Is there not some other function you might be performing?" The Jaffa tilted his head towards the Colonel. "Your expertise and experience do seem ill-spent in this venue."

"I don't mind. You know me. I like kids. And they like me back."

"Perhaps because you maintain a similar frame of reference."

The Colonel's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying, Teal'c?"

"I have articulated exactly that which I intended, O'Neill."

"That I'm a child?"

"I do not believe those were my exact words."

"_Murray_."

Teal'c's dark lids fluttered halfway shut, his chin set in a staunch manner that suggested he'd long since reached the end of his patience. "Then why must we be present, as well? Could you not have attended on your own?"

"Oh. Really not a good idea, Teal'c." Her voice a rough whisper, Carter's answer seemed completely impulsive, a fact brought home by her subsequent act of bringing her fingertips to her lips.

Jack turned his head to his left and glared at where Carter stood. She'd dressed up, too, but, as usual, she didn't look the least affected by either the heat or the hormones. Her features had been carefully schooled into a semblance of modified polite interest. It was his least favorite of her expressions—although ironically, also one of those that he saw the most frequently. Normally, for some reason, she cranked that one out when he was speaking. That she'd already put it on told him that she wasn't really expecting much out of his portion of the program.

His mouth thinned. "Go ahead, Major, why don't you tell him why you all have to be here?"

Carter's eyes flew wide as she turned to look at him. "Sir?"

"Teal'c wants to know why he has to be here. You usually know everything. You tell him."

Carter puckered her mouth, blowing up her cheeks slightly as she struggled for, and then found, her answer. "Um—let's just say General Hammond thought it might be a good idea if we came along."

The Jaffa leaned forward and cocked his head in question. "To moderate O'Neill's behavior?"

O'Neill watched her eyes shift to him before returning to meet Teal'c's. "I didn't say that, Teal'c."

"Only because you're too benevolent." This from Daniel, standing to Sam's left. Eyes wide, he leaned back against the wall at the back of the room, arms folded sullenly across his chest. "We're baby-sitting, and you know it."

Sam straightened, throwing Daniel a warning glare. "Shh. We're supposed to be listening."

"To what?" Daniel's body expanded as he drew in a huge amount of air, then blew it out in a manner reminiscent of Mr. Ed. Turning to Sam, he cocked his head towards the speaker. "She's a dental hygienist."

"It's a valuable vocation."

"She flosses crap out of other people's teeth." Daniel couldn't quite quell the shudder that ran through him. "Why anyone would voluntarily choose to do that is beyond me."

"You go to the dentist twice a year." Sam's voice had turned chiding. "I know you do."

"Yes—I go to the dentist—an actual _doctor_. I don't see the hygienist. They're just filler until the doctor can see you. Hygienists are glorified tooth-picks."

"They clean the patient's teeth so that it's easier to see cavities. And it gives the doctor more time for actual consultation with his patients, if he doesn't have to do the simple cleanings."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Yeah—like I said. Filler."

"Dentists clean teeth, too."

"Like I said, dentists are doctors."

"Then they're tooth-picks, too."

"No, they're _doctors_. They clean teeth medically."

"I can't believe you." Carter frowned at him, then shook her head with yet another sigh and faced up front again. "I never knew you were such a snob."

Jack leaned close. "I keep telling you."

But the Major only cast him a look that reminded him eerily of his Aunt Doris. Only without the sweet-yet slighty-off-old ladyishness. Even Black Ops training hadn't prepared him for that particular expression seething from Carter. It was like a glimpse into the future—a future where everything was ugly, and cold.

He shuddered—completely involuntarily. But at least the cold chill that had run up his spine had given him some relief from the Junior High auditorium heat.

The hygienist picked up a giant toothbrush and began to demonstrate proper brushing procedure on a set of oversized, cartoonish teeth. A quick glance at the seventh graders in the room revealed that they held Mrs. (Jack leaned over to peer at the handout in Carter's hand) Lambert in about as much esteem as did Daniel.

But then, the woman's scrubs were fully covered with images of the some large gelatinous-looking creatures of varying colors. He'd spent the entire first half of her talk trying to figure out exactly what they were. Luckily, he knew someone who always had the answers.

"Hey, Carter."

"Yes, Sir?"

"What are those things on her outfit?"

"The buttons?" She turned to peer at him.

"No—the other things. The things printed on the material."

"Oh—the characters." Carter squinted slightly at Mrs. Lambert, then turned her face back towards him. "They're the Teletubbies."

"What do you know about the Teletubbies?"

"What _are_ the Teletubbies?"

He and Daniel had spoken at exactly the same time, and Sam answered with a frown. "Come on, you guys—we're supposed to be listening and setting a good example."

As if to prove her point, a teacher turned towards them with a disapproving stare.

Daniel and Carter obediently clammed up and settled back against the wall. Perhaps that was why both of them had multiple degrees. They actually cared what women like that thought.

O'Neill watched the teacher out of the corner of his eyes until she moved away, glaring at the backs of the kids in front of him. It wasn't his fault. He had all kinds of interesting things to say if the Tooth Fairy would just shut up.

Again looking sideways at the handout in Carter's hand, the Colonel scanned downward. He was up next. They'd gotten there a bit late, slinking in to the back of the assembly room as the first speaker, a computer programmer, had been wrapping up his presentation. Next up had been a hairdresser and then a mechanic, a pastor, and some guy who sold vitamins on the internet.

The hygienist, the penultimate speaker of the day, had gone on for nearly twice as long as the rest of the speakers, and the entire muddle of humanity attending the event had long since ceased to listen and were well on their way to becoming completely catatonic.

In fact, as soon as Mrs. Lambert had stood up, the girl sitting directly to Cassie's right had immediately buried her face in her arms, nested on the back of the chair in front of her. Jack would have bet his right shoe that not only was the kid's last name Lambert, but that not even the hygienist's own progeny could possibly have had any desire whatsoever to listen to Tooth Pick and her Brush of Wonder.

Which she was wielding ferociously now on a large foam tongue.

A tongue which was exactly the same color as one of the critters on her pediatric dental office garb. Which was covered with the multicolored blob-like things. He remembered where he'd heard the name now—he'd heard a news thing about them several years before. Back when he _watched_ the news.

Again, he leaned in to Carter. "Which one's gay?"

She turned to him, her mouth gaping open. "Sir?"

"The Telefluffies. Which is the gay one?"

"Teletubbies." The side of Carter's mouth jerked once upwards. "And I don't remember."

Daniel leaned over. "One of them was gay?"

"Yeah." O'Neill squinted again at the tongue brushing dental assistant. "I think it was the purple one."

"I thought you didn't know who they were." Daniel's brows drew low over his eyes.

"I don't. Didn't." But even O'Neill knew how disingenuous that seemed. Still, he persisted. "I don't."

"Then how did you know that one of them is supposed to be gay?" This from Carter, who had apparently forgotten about being a good example, although her voice still was nearly a whisper.

"It was on the news. Don't you remember? It was a big deal. All kinds of religious groups were boycotting them because one of them—Blinky Dinky—or Ho—or something—was gay."

"Tinky Winky, sir. The purple one was Tinky Winky." The Major looked a little embarrassed to know this. But nevertheless, she gamely continued. "And the red one was Po. Not Ho. There was also a green one named Dipsy, and a yellow one, but I don't remember his name."

"His?" The Colonel smirked. "They had genders? How could you tell?"

She shook her head, eyes wide. "I really have no idea, sir."

But O'Neill had glommed onto that idea with ferocity. "So which ones were boys and which ones were girls? Eventually, they'd have to reproduce, wouldn't they? I mean, if they didn't want to go extinct."

"I have not a clue." Carter grinned. "And I'm not sure I'd even want to know how that particular undertaking could be accomplished."

"Perhaps they reproduced asexually." Daniel posited his theory with a weirdly serious expression.

Sam answered him just as earnestly. "But then it wouldn't matter that one was gay, right?"

For a long moment, the Colonel stood still, his gaze fixed on a random point in space. "The Purple one was Tinky Winky. Green was Dispy. Red was Po. Yellow was—" His voice trailed off weakly.

Teal'c's expression implacable, he turned towards the Colonel. "What kind of parent would name his offspring Tinky Winky? It is indeed an unsuitable appellation for a warrior."

"Oh, they weren't warriors, Teal'c."

"Then what purpose did these creatures serve?"

All seriousness, the Colonel shook his head. "No one knows."

Daniel scratched at his temple, deep in thought. "Wasn't there one named Laa-Laa?"

"Which one? The yellow one?" O'Neill craned his head around his Major to look at the archaeologist. "Baa-Baa? That sounds like a sheep."

"_Laa-Laa_." Daniel over-pronounced the word, ending up looking like he was singing a popular Christmas carol. "Not Baa-Baa."

"So Laa-Laa was the gay one?"

"No, I'm fairly certain it was Tinky Winky that was gay." Carter turned to Daniel. "It was because of his triangular antenna."

"What does the shape of his antenna have to do with his sexual orientation?" If possible, Daniel's brows had pushed themselves closer together, and now formed one single entity.

"Apparently it's a symbol." Sam flicked a look back towards the teacher, who had turned her attention to two kids doing something she obviously didn't think they should have been doing.

Daniel actually turned his entire body towards the Major. "Of _what_?"

Teal'c stood up straight and turned his head just enough for them to see the gleam of his tattoo. "It is triangular. Therefore, it is not straight."

For a moment, however brief, all four of them stood unmoving and quiet.

"You know," Daniel gave a one-shouldered shrug. "That actually kind of makes sense."

"SHhhhh." O'Neill jumped at the sharp noise, turning to see that the teacher was back, this time positively glowering at them all. She stood near the back of the auditorium, even with the back row of chairs. As if she hadn't already made her point, she did it again, this time with a pointy little finger shoved up next to her overly tight lips. "_SHhhhh_."

She looked uptight. O'Neill tried to look obeisant, but gave up when the woman narrowed her eyes so much at him that they disappeared all together. Fitting his chin to his chest, he watched her until she turned and headed back down the aisle.

"Wow." He aimed his comment at the Major. "She needs a little Laa-Laa in her life."

And the Colonel was reminded why Carter was his favorite member of the team when she snorted.

"I think she's finally done." Daniel pushed away from the wall and took a step closer to the stage. "At least, she's put the mega-brush away."

And sure enough, a glance down at the front of the room confirmed that the hygienist had stowed her gear and was cheerfully thanking her audience.

As Mrs. Lambert left the podium, the uptight teacher strode onto the stage and raised both hands as the din in the auditorium rose.

"Children!" She waited, and then when it appeared her plea would be completely ignored by the crowd, she tried again—only this time with the finesse of a fishwife. "People!"

The screeching accomplished its purpose, and the students began to settle down again. Once the noise had reached an apparently acceptable decibel level, the teacher pasted on a plastic smile. "Okay. That's better. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Our last speaker of the day comes to us from the Air Force. Colonel O'Neill is an officer. And he's stationed right here in Colorado Springs."

A rise in the noise level accompanied a mass shift of heads as most of the students turned to peer behind them at the contingent against the back wall. O'Neill stood up straight and spread his fingers in a casual wave. Some of the students waved back, including Cassie, who seemed to be giggling. As usual.

"Yes. Well. He's here to talk a little about the benefits of military service, so why don't you all give him a big Cougar welcome?"

Apparently, the cougars these kids had been exposed to had all long since died. As the Colonel made his way down the aisle toward the stage to a smattering of half-hearted applause, he watched as most of the seventh graders sank back down into their seats with all the enthusiasm of inmates returning to their cells after their minutes in the yard.

He reached the floor of the hall and ascended the stairs to the podium, where he shook the hand of the teacher in charge and then crossed to the center of the stage. Looking out into the mass of kids, he found Cassie again, and indicated her with a nod of his head before taking a deep breath and reaching into his pocket for his note cards.

He'd actually written out what he'd wanted to say—at the behest of the General, who had expressed concern that he might run off topic from time to time during his speech. Holding up the first one, he cracked his lips, drew in a breath, and began.

"Good afternoon."

A burst of deafening clanging suddenly rang through the hall, accompanied by a mass upheaval unlike anything O'Neill had ever seen outside the battle field. Backpacks whipped everywhere—arms and legs moving, bodies hurtling through cramped aisles towards the doors being yanked open on either side of the auditorium. Within seconds, the tumult had ended, leaving the Colonel standing on the stage, cards raised, mouth open. His audience gone.

He turned towards the teacher, who had bent down to gather up her things.

"What the hell happened?" Even to him, his tone sounded whiny.

The teacher looked up from the voluminous bag she was packing. "The bell rang."

"But—what about my presentation?" A glance towards the back of the hall told him that his team had started down the aisle towards him, their expressions bemused, and, in Teal'c's case, just the barest bit satisfied.

"I'm sorry, Colonel." The teacher stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "The class period is over. Don't worry, though. Cassie will be able to count your appearance towards her grade."

And with that, she whirled and strode off the stage, up the carpeted aisle, and out into the corridor.

"Well, Jack." Daniel reached him first, stopping near the steps to the stage and thrusting his hands down into his pockets. "That was anticlimactic."

O'Neill glared at him, then turned at cast the evil eye at the door through which the teacher had departed, then turned back to Daniel. "I didn't get to give my spiel."

"I'm sorry, sir." Carter stopped next to Daniel, a sad smile gracing her lips. "I know you were actually looking forward to this."

"The bell rang." The Colonel turned, scanned for, and then pointed at the offending instrument. "The stinking bell rang."

"It appears that we are now free to leave this place." Teal'c arrived to stand next to Carter, his hands caught up together at the small of his back. "I feel certain that we can find many ways to productively occupy our time."

"You don't understand, Teal'c." O'Neill held up the stack in his hand. "I wrote _notecards_."

"Sir. Come on. Let's go." She walked along the front of the stage to the other set of stairs, then paused and waited for him to start towards her. "We'll stop and get some lunch."

"We've got the rest of the day off, Jack. We could go see a movie." Daniel fell in step behind him, and beside Teal'c.

"What would you like to see, Daniel Jackson?"

"I don't know, Teal'c. Whatever."

"We could go back to the Colonel's place. Order a pizza. Watch some TV." Carter turned to look at Daniel. "I wouldn't mind just hanging out."

"That proposal does, in actuality, sound amenable."

"Just as long as we don't watch The Simpsons." Daniel spoke while walking through the door, coming face to face with the Colonel on the other side. At the pained expression on O'Neill's face, he clarified. "I mean, because I'm not in the mood for such _intelligent_ humor."

It was completely apparent the Colonel wasn't buying. His retort dripped in sarcasm. "If you want the inane, I suppose we could watch the Teletubbies."

"We could figure out which one is the yellow one." Carter smiled broadly, "And discuss if the Noo-Noo is one of the Teletubbies or merely a mechanical creation endowed with Teletubbistic traits and communicative abilities."

They walked down the deserted corridor, their footsteps loud on the cheap tile. As they neared the front door to the school, Teal'c paused, his countenance questioning.

The Colonel stopped at his side. "What, Teal'c?"

His First Prime tattoo gleaming in the light allowed in through the side windows, the big Jaffa frowned. He breathed in heavily, his brows low over his dark, narrowed eyes. "What is a Noo-Noo?"


	5. Casting Couch

_**Team Building**_

_**Casting Couch**_

_(Just the barest hint of fluffy ship here. Sorry. I found myself unable to resist.)_

"So, Carter."

"Hmm?"

O'Neill turned to look at the Major. She was seated, leaning against the 'Gate, her legs extended out in front her and crossed at the ankles. She'd taken off her hat and sunglasses and had her face tilted towards one of the planet's two suns, lids closed against the glare.

"Carter!"

One blue eye opened, squinting downward to where he sat on the steps. "Yes, sir?"

"Do the Tok'ra know anything at _all_ about real estate?"

Both eyes opened now, and she raised her head from the 'Gate and tilted a look in his direction. "Sir?"

"Real estate." He gestured with one hand to the world around them. "You know, property? 'Location, location, location', and all that?'

Sand. Miles of sand. Hills of sand, and valleys of sand, and mountains of sand as far as the eye could see. Here and there, tall rocks dotted the landscape. Scrawny, thin shadows of bushes strewed themselves like forgotten lint balls closer to the 'Gate, but disappeared altogether further away. Everything on this planet seemed to be enrobed in unrepentant blah.

O'Neill scowled. "This planet is the only one we've been to that's totally brown. Like one of those old photos."

Sam pursed her lips and looked around again, this time scrutinizing the vista more closely. "It's a big desert—I'll give you that."

"And the Tok'ra seem really partial to these kinds of planets. It's like they don't see that they're ugly."

"Oh, I don't know, sir." She sat up straighter and shielded her eyes against the sun with her flattened hand. "I think that every world we've been to has had its own kind of beauty."

"Really? What about Ne'tu?"

"Well, technically, sir, that was a moon."

O'Neill grunted. "Po-tay-toes, Po-_tah_-toes, Carter."

"Well, it _was_." She caught his expression and closed her mouth tight.

He regarded her steadily for a moment, plainly skeptical. "Look around you—would you choose _this_ planet, of all the planets in the galaxy, on which to pitch your tent?"

"The Tok'ra make tunnels—they don't live in tents." But a glance at the Colonel had her giving the area around them a new look. "And it kind of reminds me of the deserts in Arizona, which can be quite lovely."

O'Neill scowled. "It's boring. They're boring. It's brown. Nothing but brown."

"What's wrong with brown?"

"Ooh." O'Neill shuddered. "Too many gross things are brown. Mud. Dirt. Sand."

"Those aren't really gross, though, are they?"

"Poop." The Colonel's eyes widened. "Poop is brown. And gross. Whenever I see brown, I think of poop."

"Really?" Sam scrunched her nose up, her tone fraught with disbelief. "That's what you think of when you see the color brown?"

"Yeah." He turned more fully toward her, leaning forward and resting his elbow on the step above him. "What do you think of when you see brown stuff?"

"Nothing." Her answer emerged too quickly, and she collected herself enough to shake her head. "Nothing much, really." The Major busied herself adjusting her vest, futzing with the accoutrements on her weapon, and then settling herself back against the 'Gate. "Nothing at all. It's just a color, right?"

The Colonel studied her, eyes narrowed. "Give it up. What do you think about?"

She pretended she hadn't heard him. Something far in the distance had captured every iota of her attention—and she searched the horizon as if it held the secrets to the universe.

"Major."

She flinched.

"Chocolate. You think of chocolate."

Her eyelids flickered as she fought against rolling her eyes, and he grinned in triumph.

A scuffing noise at the bottom of the dais drew his attention towards the DHD. Trudging through the deep sand at the base of the 'Gate platform, Daniel and Teal'c approached, their expressions grim.

"Did you find it?" The Colonel turned to watch as they came to a stop on the bottom step.

"Nope." Daniel flopped down on the third stair and began unlacing his boots. "Just like I knew we wouldn't."

"It is most unusual." Teal'c stopped at the bottom of the platform, his normally implacable face carrying a hint—_just a hint_—of consternation. "We should have been able to locate the ring platform."

"I'm telling you, Teal'c. They hide them from us on purpose." The Colonel took off his hat and scratched derisively at the top of his head before slapping the cap back down. "They do it just to mess with the stupid Tau'ri."

"I doubt it, Jack."

"Come on, Daniel. When have you ever known the Tok'ra to be forthcoming about _anything_?"

"Their tradition of subterfuge has kept their race alive for centuries." Daniel pulled off his right boot and upended it, spilling sand all over the bottom step. "Can we blame them?"

O'Neill watched as the archaeologist pulled off his left boot and emptied it, as well. Heaving a sigh, the Colonel nodded. "I think we can."

"I believe our only option is to wait." Teal'c took the steps two at a time, bypassing Daniel and then O'Neill, and then sat down on the top step, laying his staff weapon across his knees.

A strangled sound came from the Colonel, who leaned heavily back against the step above him. "But I hate waiting."

"We know, Jack." Daniel pounded on the bottom of a boot with his fist, and then peered deep within as though sand had hidden itself in the depths with the express purpose of vexing him. "We've heard this complaint oh, so many times before."

"Not complaint." O'Neill shook his head and sat back up. "Fact, Daniel. It's a _fact_."

"Well, whatever it is," the younger man tentatively shoved his foot back into his boot. "We've heard it before."

"So? It's still true."

Daniel grimaced, and turned his attention towards his other boot. When he spoke again, his voice had taken on the quality of that of a kindergarten teacher. "We _know_, Jack."

"Waiting sucks."

Carter sighed loudly, then, shifting her position on the 'Gate. "It is, however, roughly seventy-five percent of our job."

"You've figured that out mathematically?"

"Like you said, sir." Eyes wide, she met his gaze. "We seem to have spent a lot of time in situations like the one we're currently in. I've had a great deal of time to think about it."

"Just hanging around." The Colonel dug some sand out of his ear with his pinkie. "Watching sand. It's so _stimulating_. We should thank the Tok'ra for the vacation day."

"I wouldn't call it a vacation day." Carter adjusted the P-90 on her lap, brushing some sand off her trousers. "We're still technically working."

"Still." O'Neill nodded—earnestly. "Remind me to thank your dad when we see him. If he ever shows up, I mean."

Sam nodded back in mock sincerity. "Yes, sir."

"To be fair, there are other things that we do." Daniel finished tying his boot laces and looked up. "We also shoot a lot of stuff."

"Not enough stuff." O'Neill pointed out. "And definitely too little if you compare that with the amount of waiting that we do."

"We liberate people, we treat illness, we acquire new technologies, amongst other things." Sam counted, raising a new finger with each successive idea. "We perform many other functions besides just waiting and killing things."

From his spot on the top step, Teal'c breathed out heavily. "Still, I believe that our usefulness has in no way been advantageously utilized."

"See? Even Teal'c agrees with me." The Colonel gestured towards the Jaffa with an open palm. "How often does _that_ happen?"

"Oh, come on, Jack." Sighing, the archaeologist threw a hasty glance over his shoulder. "It's not that uncommon. You two are the military types here. It would impress me more if Sam agreed with you."

The Major reached towards the pack at her side and withdrew a canteen from a side pouch. "Actually, Daniel, I do agree with the Colonel."

"What?" Daniel canted his head to one side. "But you just said—"

"I was just saying that there were other things that we do." Sam ran her thumb along the barrel of her weapon. "But in all, I don't think that the bulk of our time is used well. I wish that we could get rid of missions like this one. Where we sit around for hours on end."

"Even if that means not seeing your dad?"

"I wasn't ever certain he'd be here." Adjusting her position again, she angled her full attention towards the bottom of the steps, where Daniel had turned completely to look at her. "The representative they sent merely implied that he'd be here—nothing was set in stone."

"But I thought Dakout said—"

"Daniel." Carter halted midway through unscrewing the cap of her canteen. "Honestly. I like the Tok'ra—some more than others, I'll grant you. But I think that the majority of them look at us like the proverbial red-headed step-children and don't really think that our time is all that important."

Daniel leaned his upper body weight on the elbow that he'd perched on the step just above him. "Wow. I didn't know that you thought that way about them. I thought that after you and Martouf got all close and stuff—"

"Daniel." Jack cleared his throat. Loudly.

With a roll of his eyes, Daniel started again. "I've always thought that you and the Tok'ra were pretty chummy."

"Not so much." Sam raised her eye brows. "I get tired of them being all high and mighty all the time. And I get tired of being guinea pigs and bait for them. And quite frankly, it wouldn't hurt them to visit a mall every once in a while."

"See? You get tired of brown, too." The Colonel grinned. "I knew it!"

With only the barest glance at her CO, Sam raised her canteen and took a little sip of water. Swallowing, she dabbed at a spilled drop or two with the back of her hand on her lip before scrunching up her nose and shaking her head slightly. "But you know what's funny about this situation?"

"Is there something funny about this situation?" O'Neill's expression showed pure skepticism.

"Well, Sir." She screwed the lid back on the vessel. "Think about all those SGC hopefuls training right now for the chance to come off-world like we do."

Daniel turned his head to send his voice upward. "Many of them don't make it onto a team."

Jack groaned and leaned back against the riser above him. "Thanks, Daniel, for once again pointing out the obvious."

"Sir, that's what I was saying. Most of them go home without ever going off-world." Sam threw her hands wide, the motion making the water slosh within her canteen. "But they all have this idea of what it would be like to be out here—and it's not anything like what they think it's going to be like."

Daniel nodded. "They all imagine it's much more exciting than it really is."

"When in reality, being off-world is normally long periods of boredom broken up by a few minutes of abject terror." Sam set the container down and resettled herself against the 'Gate, positioning her weapon across her lap. "Kind of ironic, isn't it?"

"I have heard our missions touted as being something akin to the battle sequences within motion pictures." Teal'c intoned, leaning forward and bracing his forearms against his knees. "When, in reality, that is not the case."

"I hadn't thought of that." Pausing in the process of removing some sand from her P-90, Sam cast a look at the Jaffa. "I mean—can you imagine them making our day to day operations into a movie?"

With a derisive snort, the Colonel shook his head. "It would either be 45 hours long and a snore-fest, or it would be 45 seconds long and people would crap themselves in fear."

"No, Hollywood would probably make it seem far more interesting than it actually is." Daniel stood, shaking sand off his pants. "They'd add big explosions and computer graphic aliens and have really cool actors doing amazing stunts."

"Really cool actors?" The Colonel's grin reeked of sarcasm. "Just who would that be for you, Daniel?"

"You mean, who would play me?" The younger man pursed his lips, his brows low. "I really don't know. I don't see many movies."

"Jon Cryer." Teal'c's mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. "Or, perhaps, Jon Lovitz."

"Who are they?"

"They are performers who share some of your basic characteristics, Daniel Jackson."

"And what would those be?"

"They're geeks, Daniel." Raising a hand to scratch at his cheek, the Colonel hid his grin. "Really little geeks."

"But I'm not a geek." Daniel raised a hand to fiddle with his glasses. "Nor am I little."

"_Much_." Jack's smirk grew.

"I'm as tall as you are, Jack."

"I'm talking bulk, here, Daniel." The Colonel motioned towards himself, indicating the breadth of his own body.

"Well—you got me there." Seemingly conceding, Daniel paused before adding, "You eat a _lot_ more cake than I do, if you know what I mean."

"You calling me fat?" Off again came the cap, and the Colonel sat forward on the step.

Daniel's brows soared. "Hey, you're the one that brought up bulk."

"Come on, guys." Sam sounded like the world's most patient kindergarten teacher. "Give it a rest."

The Colonel shoved his hat back over his tousled graying hair with a sound that might have been a snort.

She tried again. "So, what actor were you thinking of, Daniel?"

"Well, I was thinking more along the lines of that guy from the Star Wars movies."

"Mark Hamill?" Teal'c raised that ubiquitous brow. "I believe he is far too old, Daniel Jackson."

"No—the one that just came out. The young Obi Wan guy."

"Ewan McGregor?" Carter nodded benignly. "That'd work. He's pretty cool. And I hear he does a lot of his own stunts."

"So—he's a 'maybe'." Daniel's eyes widened behind his glasses. "How about Nicholas Cage?"

"Too weird." Sam scrunched up her nose and paused for a moment before making her next proposal. "Ben Affleck."

Daniel absorbed that momentarily, his expression pensive. "Closer. Still a little—_meh_."

"What about that one guy?" Jack gestured towards Daniel. "You know—the one from that movie that you like."

"Which movie?"

"The depressing one with the kids and the orphanage."

"_The Cider House Rules_?" Daniel scowled. "Tobey Maguire? He's a child."

"And therein lies the genius of the suggestion, Daniel."

"Matt Damon." Teal'c's voice boomed down from the top of the platform. "I believe he would acquit himself well playing the role of Daniel Jackson."

"He's smart." Sam chimed in. "And good looking."

"And geeky in a kick-ass way." The Colonel grudgingly nodded.

"Yeah. So—he would kind of be appropriate for you, Daniel." Sam nodded, smiling gamely. "Now, who could play the Colonel?"

"Bruce Willis." O'Neill stated. Decisively.

"Really?" A wrinkle formed between the Major's eyebrows. And she couldn't quite suppress the perplexed tone in her voice. "_Really_?"

"What's wrong with Bruce Willis?" O'Neill turned towards her again, eyes narrowed. "He's cool. He's funny, and he took out a whole butt-load of terrorists in _Die Hard_."

"You've seen _Die Hard_?"

"Who _hasn't_ seen _Die Hard_, Sam?" Daniel turned fully, stretching his legs out on the step and balancing his body on an elbow braced on the riser above him. "I've even seen that one more than once."

"And why not?" The Colonel gestured at him. "It's a great flick."

"But _Bruce Willis_?"

"What's wrong with him?" O'Neill scowled. "He's funny. I like him."

The wrinkle appeared again. "Well, for one thing, sir. You have hair."

"He had fake hair in that ghost movie with the freaky kid." The Colonel shrugged. "Actors wear rugs all the time."

"No." The Major shook her head vehemently. "I'm sorry, sir, I just don't see it. SG teams don't do toupees."

"The audience wouldn't know it's a toupee."

"Oh, they so would." Her expression had frozen somewhere between a smile and a frown. With a random motion towards her own head, she continued. "They're so icky. Like little dead animals perched up there. Just waiting to pounce."

"Icky?" O'Neill grinned. "Is that purely scientific terminology?"

"It's icky." Sam pursed her lips tight before continuing. "If you're bald, just admit it and embrace it."

"So—you're okay with bald guys?" Daniel's mouth twitched.

The Major shrugged. "Honestly, I don't care what the guy looks like as long as he's nice. And funny and at least reasonably intelligent."

"So, you'd go out with Walter?" Daniel looked up at Sam, that odd expression still batting around his features.

The Colonel frowned. "Who?"

"Technician guy. Short. Bald. Nice. Funny." Daniel peered upwards at Sam over the tops of his frames. "He's your type?"

"I didn't say that." Sam's eyes narrowed. "And he's military, so it's against the regs."

"Ah—convenient." Daniel just barely stopped himself before he rolled his eyes. "Gotta love those regs."

"Can it, Daniel." Jack's voice was more growl than anything else.

"So, who could play Jack?" Ignoring the other man, Daniel squinted off into the distance. "Christopher Walken?"

Jack frowned. "He's ancient, isn't he?"

"About your age, I'd say." But Daniel was trying to bite back a smirk.

"Next." Jack tightened his mouth again, deep in thought. "Clint Eastwood?"

"You wish." Daniel snorted. "Sean Connery."

"Isn't he dead?" Sam tilted her head to one side, eyes narrowed. "How about George Clooney."

"The guy from that hospital show?" Jack scowled. "He's too—"

"Too what, Jack?"

"Too _pretty_." The Colonel shuddered. "Way too pretty."

The Major laid her weapon down, a tiny smile playing along her lips. "What's wrong with pretty?"

"Guys aren't supposed to be pretty. Real men are studly or cool—but not cute—or whatever."

"Cute and pretty are different."

"Yeah—but cute and pretty aren't tough." O'Neill's brows rose.

"So, what you're saying, Jack," Daniel brushed absently at some sand on his pants. "Is that you want an ugly tough actor to portray you in the movie?"

"Not ugly." The Colonel raised his index finger. "Just not pretty."

Swiping at his damp forehead, Daniel blew out an exasperated breath. "How about Russell Crowe? You know, from _Gladiator_."

"Oh, now, he's _too_ hot." Sam spoke without thinking. Immediately, her cheeks blazed, and she shot a look down at O'Neill. "Um—I mean—I'm not sure he's exactly right."

"What are you saying, Major?" The Colonel glared at her. "Was that a commentary on my hotness or my lack thereof?"

But Sam clamped her lips together and stubbornly remained silent.

Daniel paused in the act of shaking still more sand out of his hair. "How about Brendan Fraser."

"Fraser?" Jack leaned forward, squinting down at his team mate. "From that Mummy movie?"

"I found that film pleasing." Teal'c spoke to no one in particular. "I especially enjoyed the special effects."

"Yeah—they were pretty good." Daniel sat up, stretching. "I actually think he would work well for you, Jack. Likes to shoot things. Doesn't take anything too seriously."

"Okay. So that's two settled." The Colonel suddenly stood, flipping back the cover on his watch and peering behind him at the silent 'Gate. "Where the hell are they?"

"The Tok'ra?"

"Yes, the Tok'ra." He slapped the cover back down, turning towards the 'Gate. "It's been nine and a half hours."

"General Hammond told us they had a window of ten during the briefing."

"Who has a window of ten hours?" Jack paced the length of the step before glowering again at his subordinate. "This is getting ridiculous."

"Come on, Jack. We've only got to stick it out for thirty more minutes." Daniel stood, twisting his body back and forth. "Okay—so who's next?"

Jack sighed, reaching down and grabbing his P-90. Hooking it to his vest, he straightened and tromped up the steps to stop just below Teal'c. "Who do you think could play you?"

Teal'c's mouth relaxed into a near smile. "I do not believe that there are any actors among the Tau'ri who could make a successful portrayal."

"Nobody?"

"Indeed not, O'Neill. None of the actors I have seen possess either the stature or ability."

"There are lots of big guys out there."

The Jaffa quirked his lip in what might have been assent. But probably wasn't.

Jack frowned. "Michael Clarke Duncan. You know—from that prison movie. With the mouse. That guy's huge."

"He is, perhaps, too large." Teal'c inclined his head. "Muscular without flexibility. In order to do battle as a true Jaffa, one must move quickly."

"But he wouldn't be doing battle as a true Jaffa. He'd be doing a movie as a fake Jaffa."

"That may be true." Shifting his hold on his staff weapon, Teal'c regarded the Colonel steadily. "However, in the pursuit of authenticity, I believe I would be required to portray myself."

"Okay." Capitulating, the Colonel paced along his step until he stood directly in front of Carter. "Your turn."

"You really don't need to, sir." Sam looked up at him, raising a hand to shadow her eyes.

"Come on—it'll be fun."

"No, it won't."

But the Colonel stared at her, already deep in thought. "Uma Thurman."

Behind him, Daniel approached, taking the steps two at a time. "Uma Thurman? She's a little—uh—" he lifted his hands towards his chest. "She's too girly."

The Major's tone reeked of her lack of amusement. "Because Uma and I don't have that in common?"

"No—I know that you're both women. But she's flirty and bubbly and you're—not."

"Thanks for the clarification, Daniel."

"I'm just saying that she's tall and gorgeous and really feminine—and I don't see you that way."

"Then how do you see me? Short and ugly and man-like?"

The Colonel turned meaningfully towards his friend. With a swipe of his palm near his throat, he muttered, "Ix-nay on the alking-tay."

"I understand pig latin too, sir."

"See? That's because you're smart. So you need someone smart to play you. Like Cate Blanchett."

"Too—serious." O'Neill shook his head, then raised a brow. "Julia Roberts."

"Too much hair." Sam crinkled her nose, again. "I'm ixing-nay that one."

The Colonel smiled. "Gwyneth Paltrow."

"I'm not British." Sam grinned. "I think she only plays Brits."

"Okay, then, Reese Witherspoon."

"Too cute, Daniel."

He stepped onto the top of the platform and turned to look at the Colonel. "Sam's cute."

"No, she's not—she's beautiful, but not really cute."

"What's the difference?"

"Carter could kick your butt barehanded, or drop you with that P-90 from half a mile." O'Neill's eyes narrowed. "Not cute. See the difference?"

"Oh, please." The Major dropped her head to her knees. Her voice muffled, she pleaded. "Can we just stop, now?"

But she was blithely ignored.

"How about Meg Ryan?" This from Daniel.

"She walks like a man."

"So does Sam, when she's all geared up."

O'Neill's brows steepled. "She does not."

"Does so."

"Gentlemen." Teal'c's deep timbre intruded. "I believe that Michelle Pfeiffer meets all the requirements of the character."

Daniel went still, the left side of his mouth tilting upward. "Well, Michelle Pfeiffer. She's—um."

"She's _perfect_, is what she is." The Colonel reached up and resituated his cap yet again. "No argument there."

"Oh, yeah." Daniel smiled vaguely off into the distance.

"So that's the cast. Matt Damon, Brendan Fraser, Teal'c as himself, and Michelle Pfeiffer." O'Neill listed them off in precise order.

For a few moments, silence descended, then a strangled snort sounded from around Carter's knees.

"What, Sam?"

She lifted her head to display a huge grin. "That is a terrible cast. The movie would bomb. And then we'd have to go off-world permanently to keep from being recognized."

"Not necessarily." Daniel pushed his glasses up on his nose. After a brief pause, he grinned-sheepish. "On second thought—it _is_ pretty bad."

After a long silence, the Colonel threw up his hands in playful exasperation. "Well, that's the problem right there. We're too cool. There's no one that can take our place." With a glance at his watch, he turned and started to descend the steps towards the DHD. "Come on, people. I'm calling it. The Tok'ra aren't going to show."

It took a few minutes for Carter to collect her gear, and she descended to stand behind Daniel as he dialed home. The event horizon formed with its customary ka-whoosh, and Daniel and Teal'c started up the steps towards the wormhole.

Sam stepped forward, towards the steps, but stopped at the Colonel's voice behind her. "Yes, sir?"

"I'm sorry you didn't get to see your dad."

She smiled a little. "Thanks. Me too."

"But I'm right, aren't I? About the ugly planets."

Carter regarded him steadily, then peeked behind her to see Daniel and Teal'c disappearing into the puddle. She faced the Colonel again. "Okay—I'll give you that one. The Tok'ra normally choose really awful worlds."

"I told you."

They moved forward, climbing the steps until the both stood on the platform, where Carter stopped just before the puddle. "But you were wrong about one thing, sir."

"What was that?"

"The brown thing."

"What about it?"

"I don't just think about chocolate." Sam looked him fully in the eyes. Intentionally. Meaningfully. "There are other things that are really nice that are brown. And sometimes, I think about them."

It took him a minute. Then his brows flew high. "Really?"

"Really." She shrugged—a rueful motion. "So brown—isn't all that bad, right?"

And with that, she smiled at him and moved through the puddle, leaving him standing on the platform alone.

He stared at the ripples she'd made in the event horizon, then behind him, where the earthy richness of the planet stretched out around him, a dizzying collection of tones from sepia to russet to distant mountains infuscate with deepest mahogany. O'Neill grinned.

And it pained him to say it. But maybe the Tok'ra weren't so stupid, after all.


	6. technobabble

_I wrote this for a fic contest on Gateworld. For some reason, I set it in Season 8 or thereabouts (who knows why?) and then never posted it. It's a Team Building story, though—and just as non-shippy as can be for those of you who aren't into fluff. _

_Enjoy!_

_**Team Building**_

_**technobabble**_

"Hey, Carter. Are you done with that project yet?"

The General poked his head through the doorway leading to the Colonel's lab, his face flush with hope. Looking up, Sam grimaced. She could tell that he'd been trying to be patient. He hadn't bothered her for at least an hour, when he'd asked her at lunch what kind of progress she'd been making. Unfortunately, by then, she'd just deduced that the issue wasn't the power source or a bad connection with the terminals, both of which had already checked out as fully functional.

"I'm sorry, sir." Sam sat back on her stool, bracing her forearms on the table in front of her. Sighing without meaning to, she tilted her head to one side, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment before attempting to explain. "I haven't been able to determine exactly what the problem is quite yet. I'm still working on the initial determinates—whether all of the innards are functioning properly, or if something has just been jarred loose from long-term use or damage."

"So it's not a battery issue?" That had been his hope—he'd stated as much while dropping the device off in her lab earlier that morning.

His own attempts at futzing with it (his words, not hers) had been in vain, so he'd brought it by before his morning briefing with SG-9, who had been heading out to negotiate trade relations with some planet that had abundant supplies of something important. Or so he'd been told. His mind had seemed to be on other—more important things—at that moment. Like how to get this contraption up and running by the time he needed it.

Carter glanced up at the clock on her laboratory wall. He'd given her a deadline of three in the afternoon. Which exactly coincided with the start time of his meeting with Woolsey and the other delegates of the IOA. She frowned. Helping him in this particular endeavor seemed tainted with shades of aiding and abetting.

"Are you certain it can't wait until tomorrow?'

"What's the problem? Can't you just go down to Battery Depot or something?" He raised his arm and looked at his watch. "There's still time."

"That might not be the problem, sir."

He called her frown and raised her a scowl. "Come on, Carter. Just plug some more little diddlies in and see what happens, okay?"

Sam shook her head. "No—like I said earlier, sir, the energy source and output is all within the acceptable range—I even placed the power packs within an alternate device in order to determine if they were truly dysfunctional even when my load indicator demonstrated that they were giving a normal output." Throwing a hand towards the device, she shook her head. "It has to be an internal snafu. It's definitely not, as you say, a 'battery issue'."

"Damn." His disappointment showed clearly in his grimace, and in the way he raked his fingers through his perennially tousled gray hair. "Then what else could it be?"

"Well, sir, it could be anything." Sam lifted a hand and brushed absently at a tic in her cheek. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she poked at a small, dark, glass object. "This, for example. This display uses a specific form of crystal technology that distorts when electrical charges or impulses are fed though the crystals. The charges formulate patterns visible to the human eye and recognizable only when light passes through them."

Lifting a second, clear piece of material, Carter turned it so that he could see. "A secondary visual interface then refracts or reflects light depending on specificity of circumstance and availability of alternate light sources, thus providing the viewer with a more clear optical experience. Change or displace anything within that process, and the entire display won't work."

O'Neill took a furtive step closer to the table, with its bounty of highly important and immensely breakable stuff. Reaching out, he tentatively poked a piece of the device. "What about this thing? What does it do?"

Sam immediately stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Please don't touch that, sir."

"Why not?"

"That's the internal processing core—kind of like a motherboard in the modern computer." His raised eyebrows reminded Sam of the futility of that sort of comparison. Shifting on her stool, she tried again. "It's the device's brains. Energy and impulses from outside switches and various kinds of user guided input are detected by the processors, and then interpreted in order to be sent on to the micro-processors and transistory units necessary to act on the information provided initially."

The Colonel paused, gauging his reaction. From the intent concentration on his face, and the fact that he hadn't yet plugged his ears with his fingers and begun to hum, she figured the General was still following her. Taking a deep breath, she continued. "My next course of action will be to link up the internal processing core to an alternate display type and determine if something isn't firing correctly within the unit. Perhaps there are transistors that are malfunctioning. One simple interruption in a single interpretive process is sometimes enough to throw off the rest of the communication within the device."

"So, you're telling me that you need more time?" His voice sounded tired, resigned.

She paused, flicking a look in his direction. "I'm telling you that without more information about exactly how this device processes information, and exactly what you did to it to prevent it from performing its basic functions, it will take more time to determine the proper course of action necessary to repair it."

The General frowned, his gaze intent on the multitudinous pieces of the contraption on her table. With a sigh, he looked up at her. "You _know_ I need this."

"I do, sir. For your meeting with the IOA." She nodded, then returned her attention to the device, its pieces laid out in an orderly jumble on her laboratory table. "Although the purpose it might serve is questionable."

"Trust me—it's necessary."

"Okay—well, then, I guess I'd better get back to work, sir."

The General nodded, then took a step backward. Obviously reluctant to leave, he thrust his hands down into his pockets, and rocked back on his heels. "I'm sure you're doing the best you can."

"Always, sir."

He nodded again, then turned and headed out the door.

-OOOOOOO-

"He's asking for it, again."

Sam groaned and lifted her head from the nest of her arms. Turning slightly on her stool, she angled her vision at Daniel, who was leaning casually against the door jamb of her lab, the cup of coffee in his hand completely ubiquitous. She blew out an exasperated breath. "I know. And I still don't have any answers for him."

"You really can't make it work?"

"No. And that's the thing. It's finally completely crapped out, and I can't do anything about it."

Daniel's brows rose above the frames of his glasses. "Wow. I don't think I've ever heard you say that before."

"Well, I'm not perfect." She glared at him when he opened his mouth. "And one word—just _one_—about blowing up that damned sun, and I'll make _you_ tell him that it can't be repaired."

Daniel grinned. "A little testy today?"

"Just annoyed." Sighing, Sam indicated the components scattered across her table. "Look at that mess. And he gives me—what—four hours to fix it? What's he thinking?"

"Oh, now, Sam." Daniel moved into the lab, capturing her rolling stool with his foot and shoving it toward the lab table. Balancing his coffee carefully, he lowered himself to sit, his smile carelessly condescending. "Come now. Don't tell me that you've given up?"

She shook her head, her blond hair glinting gold in the light from her desk lamp. "I can't do it, Daniel. It's beyond my capabilities."

"You've fixed Mother Ships in less time."

"Those are pretty straight-forward pieces of technology." She rested her elbow on the table, balancing her cheek on the backs of her fingers. "This thing is completely convoluted. It makes no sense."

"Sam, it's an earthbound piece of machinery."

"Yes, and the earthbound idiots who designed it can go right ahead and repair it." Flicking a piece of plastic with her finger, she scowled. "Stinking morons."

"I think that they intend for these things to get broken and be replaced by their users." Daniel lifted the cup to his lips, "At least that _seems_ to be what they're thinking."

"Well, far be it for them to create something that will last."

In a supreme fit of wisdom, he hid his smile by pretending to swallow. "Not that you're bitter or anything."

"Who's bitter?" Sam's brows lowered over narrowed eyes. "What, exactly, are you saying, Daniel?"

Shifting uncomfortably on his stool, the archaeologist pushed himself slightly away from the table. "Now, Sam. I didn't mean that as an insult."

"Mm-hmm." Oh, the sarcasm. Her glare reeked with it.

"Well, then. Come on, Sam." Daniel's tone turned wheedling. "Let's go and tell him. At the very least, it'll get him off your back. I'll be right beside you the whole time. He can't hit both of us at once."

With a long look at the demolished device on her lab table, Sam blew out an exasperated breath, bobbing her head in a slow shake. "Nope—I think it's just time for Plan B." Standing, she crossed to a winky blinky array that stood in the corner of her lab. Fitting her fingers under the bottom edge of the case, she popped the front panel open and swung it aside. "Which model is that one?"

"Uh—" Daniel stood and flipped the casing of the broken device over. "SP? It's blue, if that helps."

Sam muttered for a while behind the panel, emerging with a small parcel in her hands. "Luckily, they're old, so I can get them on eBay for not too much. I keep several units like this around—just in case." She closed the panel with a snap, then crossed back to her lab table and removed the bubble plastic wrapped around the little device. "I guess I should be happy he hasn't discovered the newer technology."

"But then what would you do on your days off?" Daniel swirled the coffee in his cup, watching as she searched for and found a cartridge in the debris on her table. "You know you enjoy this."

Sam seated the cartridge firmly in its place and then took a moment to gather up the components of the broken contrivance. With one last look at them, she dumped them into her trash can and then held up the replacement. "Come on, Daniel. Let's go make the man happy."

Just as she was turning towards the door, a mussed gray head popped around the jamb. Dark eyes wide, the General searched for, and found her. "Carter?"

Surprised, she quelled the urge to jump. "Yes, sir."

The General crossed the threshold slowly, glancing around her at the now-empty table top. Palms steepled together, he looked like he was deep in prayer. "Please tell me you have good news."

"Here you go, sir." She held out the device, her expression a careful, calculated mixture of triumph and humility. "Good as new."

"Carter—you're the best." O'Neill stepped forward and took it out of her hand. "I couldn't have gotten through this meeting without serious help." He gazed at the Gameboy for a moment in adoration, rubbing this thumb tenderly over the casing. "And you even buffed the scratch out of the front. It looks like it's new."

She shrugged a single shoulder, the defining portrait of self-deprecation. "I do what I can, sir."

"Yes, well. I appreciate it." He held it up, turning back towards the door. As he exited, the General looked back over his shoulder. "Truly—thanks."

"No problem, sir." She listened as his footsteps faded down the hall. Turning towards Daniel, Sam raised her brows and aimed a look at his now-empty cup. "So—need a refill? I could use a soda."

But Daniel only shook his head, staring at her over the frames of his glasses, his cup of coffee stuck halfway to his mouth. "Sam, you are such a cheater."

Her answering smile was wide—too wide. Like the felis domesticus that had dined and been satisfied on the serinus canaria. She practically waltzed past him on her way to the door. "Come on. Let's go."

Daniel emitted a heavy sigh, the slow shaking of his head more of an indictment than any words would have been. "You really have no shame, do you?"

But Sam's grin only widened. "Not really, no."

"And the sun you blew up?" He narrowed one eye, glaring at her over the tops of his glasses. "What was that, baking soda and vinegar?"

Blue eyes bright, she gave an exaggerated shrug. Wheeling around on her heel, she disappeared into the hall.

"And what about when you saved the Asgard from the replicators?" Daniel strode to the door, stopping just outside of it, his arms akimbo on his waist. "You know—with blowing up Jack's ship and all. How'd you do _that_—firecrackers and a garbage can?"

Her snort echoed in the hall. Reaching the elevator bay, Carter turned, cocking an eyebrow. "I've told you before, Daniel. A girl has to do what a girl has to do."

Catching up to her, Daniel tilted a skeptical look in Sam's direction. "I still say that's cheating."

"It's not cheating, Daniel." She rolled her eyes as she pressed the elevator button. "It's Plan B."

"Plan B." He pursed his lips. "You got a lot of these 'Plan Bs'?"

The elevators dinged open, and Sam waited for a pair of lieutenants to exit before stepping into the lift. Turning, she watched as Daniel entered, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his expression a question. She sighed and pressed a floor key.

"So." He looked sideways at her. Leaning slightly to the side, he nudged her with his shoulder. "Do you?"

Cheeks dimpling, she returned the nudge. "Shut up, Daniel."


	7. Missed Manners

**Missed Manners**

"So, SG-1." Hammond's expression showed a distinct lack of amusement. "I take it the meeting didn't go well?"

"No, sir." O'Neill slunk lower in his seat, arms folded across his chest. "It did not go well."

"I don't understand." The General leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table in front of him. "When you checked in at fifteen hundred hours, you said that the issue was practically resolved."

The Colonel didn't answer, passing a look instead at Daniel, who met it, measure for measure, his blue eyes boring holes through the lenses of his glasses. They sat directly across from each other at the briefing room table, in scarily similar poses; backs flush against chairs, arms folded, jaws set. Mirror images of stubborn.

Carter let out a longsuffering sigh. "We were fairly confident at that point in the negotiations that all would be worked out to a mutual state of satisfaction, sir."

"And?" The wrinkles in Hammond's forehead deepened. "What happened?"

The Major scraped her teeth across her bottom lip, her attention shooting between Daniel and the Colonel. Sitting up a tidge straighter, she frowned. "Well, sir. There was an—incident."

Light blinked off the top of his shiny pate as the General raked the team with a frown. "What _kind_ of incident?"

"It wasn't an exactly an incident, sir." The Colonel sat up and growled slightly before responding. "It was more of a _non_-incident."

"Meaning what?" The General's tone demonstrated just how close he was to losing his patience.

"Well, sir." Carter took a huge breath. Turning towards the General, she scooted her chair closer to the briefing room table. "I'd like to try to explain, if I may."

Daniel groaned and bent over, burying his face in his folded arms.

"We finished negotiating a trade agreement just before nightfall." Sam straightened her posture, squaring her shoulders, and pointing her remarks towards where the General sat at the head of the table. "After we'd signed everything, we decided to head back to the 'Gate, but Minrose invited us to remain for another hour and join them in their evening meal."

Squinting, one hand raised, Hammond clarified. "Now, if I'm remembering correctly, Minrose is their mayor."

"More like a chieftain." The Colonel glared down at where his clasped hands lay on the table. "He's the one that did the majority of the negotiating."

"I see." After a speculative perusal of the rest of the table, Hammond returned his attention to Sam. "Go on, Major."

"We accompanied Minrose to the main hall, where the ladies of the village had prepared a huge meal. Minrose's wife, Bellard, showed us to the table of honor in the middle of the hall, and we sat at our appointed places."

"They were most gracious." Teal'c intoned from his seat next to Daniel. "And the meal highly palatable."

"It was delicious." With a furtive glance at Daniel, Carter gritted her teeth briefly before continuing. "The conversation at the table of honor was interesting—they spoke of other groups from other worlds that had tried to come and trade with the Mikians. Bellard said that in the end, the other people hadn't met up with the Mikians' high expectations in regards to manners and propriety."

"Sticklers, huh?" Hammond smiled. "Something to be said for good comportment."

"Yes. Well." Her eyes flew wide. "One would think so, sir."

The Colonel snorted loudly enough that Hammond jumped. Racking an eyebrow upwards, he continued. "I take it that their idea of good manners is slightly different from our own?"

"Oh, just a little." Even muffled by his arms, Daniel's voice oozed embarrassment.

Hammond's brow furrowed. "What on earth happened?"

"Well, sir." Sam went on. "Their custom wasn't entirely foreign. On Earth, there are some post-meal rituals that are quite similar to that of the Mikians'."

Daniel finally lifted his head. "I lived for a year with a tribe in the Amazon that belched after every meal. If you didn't burp, they would just keep feeding you until you did."

"I've heard the same thing about the Germans." Hammond nodded. "But I don't know how true it is. My late wife's father was from Cologne, and I never heard him make a rude sound of any sort."

"Well, I suppose that the term 'rude' is relative, isn't it, sir?" With a little shrug in the General's direction, she held up both hands, fingers spread. "Anyway, when the meal was over, Minrose stood up and praised the meal and then—" Here, she faltered, wincing.

Hammond waited for several beats before urging her on with a kindly, "Well?"

"He—uh—he passed gas, sir."

"Passed gas?"

O'Neill took it upon himself to provide more illumination to what Carter had said. "He farted, General."

The General's response was immediate, but even the Texas drawl didn't make it sound better. "He farted."

"Farted. Cut the cheese. Beeped his own horn. Released a squeaker. Did the one-cheek sneak. Inverted a burp." The words simply rolled off O'Neill's nimble tongue. "And it was a doozy, sir. Huge. And it went on _forever_."

The General blanched, transferring his attention from O'Neill to Carter. "Go on, Major."

"And then Bellard rose and did the same thing, and then all the people in the hall were standing up and passing gas."

"Apparently, sir." O'Neill sat back again in his chair and used his fingers as quotation marks. "If you don't perform a rim shot after a Mikian meal, it's considered an insult to whomever prepared the grub."

"In this case, that person was the wife of the chief." The light of understanding dawned on the General's face. "So, did you follow suit?"

"Most of us, sir." Sam passed an apologetic look at Daniel. "One of us had a bit of a problem."

"Oh, no Major, it was a _huge_ problem." The Colonel's dark gaze whizzed over to where Daniel sat slouched forward in his seat, his chin resting on his upright palm. "a big, huge, enormous, non-honking problem."

"Jack—really." Daniel sighed. "What did you want me to do?"

"Uh—_not_ just stand there?" O'Neill's eyes flew wide. "Do something _other_ than what you did?"

"Well, how do you force yourself to do—that?" The archaeologist frowned, placing both hands on the table in front of him, palms down. "I mean, either you've _got_ to do it or you _don't_."

O'Neill pointed a finger at his chest. "I did it."

"Like that's such a stretch for you." Daniel's blue gaze tapered. "The question is when are you _not_ doing it?"

"I'm a guy, Daniel. It's what I do."

Daniel's eyes rolled dramatically behind his lenses. "Yes, I know. Between the scratching and adjusting, right?"

The Colonel nodded toward Daniel's right. "Teal'c did it."

"I did indeed." The Jaffa's mouth relaxed into a satisfied smile. "With gusto."

"Yeah—but for the Jaffa it's almost a national past time." Daniel thrust a thumb sideways at his team mate. "Chulak practically runs on methane."

"Okay, then." The Colonel looked pointedly at the Major. 'What about her?"

"Her, who?" But Daniel's nervous look over at Sam betrayed him.

The corner of Jack's lip jerked sideways. "Carter."

Daniel paled.

"Carter managed to come up with one. And if it's possible, she's even more uptight than you are."

Sam bristled to her own defense. "I'm not uptight, sir."

"Okay, then," O'Neill glowered, thinking briefly before finding a better word. "Proper."

But the Major obviously didn't agree with that characterization, either. "I'm not _that_ proper, sir."

"Oh really?" O'Neill raised a brow. "You blush when you burp."

"I do not."

"Oh, you _so_ do, Major."

Her blue eyes flashed for a moment as she pursed her lips at him. "All right—maybe I do. But that's just because I was taught not to be rude. But I'll have you know, that when it's appropriate, I can wallow with the best of them."

For a moment, O'Neill's skepticism burbled across his face like water from a fountain. Finally, one corner of his mouth hinting upwards, he said, "All right. Since you're so crude and socially unacceptable, fill us in. Tell us all about it. How _exactly_ did you just _happen_ to come up with a fart right on cue?"

Silence. If they'd concentrated hard enough, they could probably have heard the crickets chirping. After what seemed like forever, Carter lifted her chin and took in a bracing breath. "I—uh—I faked it."

"You _faked_ it."

"Yeah." Shifting in her seat, she scanned the rest of her room, aware to the pit of her soul of the four other pairs of eyes on her. "I faked it. You know—pfft."

"Pfft."

"Pfft." She demonstrated, setting her top teeth firmly against her bottom lip and blowing out hard. "_Pfft_. See? I pretended I was wiping my mouth with my hand, and I _pfft-ed_, instead."

"And they bought it?" The General couldn't quite control the corner of his mouth that twitched upwards.

"Apparently, sir. Bellard looked at me and smiled."

Teal'c nodded. "Major Carter's effort proved successful. The Mikians appeared most satisfied with her efforts."

Hammond's nostrils flared as he surveyed his flagship team. "So, three of you managed to come up with a creditable—uh—toot."

Jack leaned backwards again, throwing a glare across the table. "And one of us failed miserably."

Daniel thumped a finger on his chest. "Hey—I tried."

"Not hard enough."

"What was I supposed to do?" Daniel shook his head. "When you don't have to, you don't have to."

O'Neill sat forward, hands flat on the table. "I didn't have to, and I managed to come up with one."

"How exactly did you do that, oh great one?"

O'Neill's eyes narrowed to slits. "Oh, there was straining."

"Straining."

"Straining." Pausing for effect, O'Neill skewered Daniel with a smirk. "And clenching."

Daniel's brows jolted upward. "Doesn't clenching kind of defeat the purpose?"

"Apparently not."

"There are times in which clenching is most beneficial." Teal'c nodded as he delivered his sage pronouncement.

"See?" O'Neill pointed. "Even Teal'c agrees with me."

"Oh, now _there's_ a surprise." Daniel's pout deepened. "Anyway, you'd think that civilizations would make allowances for the customs of others with whom they come in contact. Not everyone's ways are alike."

"Oh, please, Daniel." The Colonel smirked, his gray head shaking. "What a crock. You're usually the one making us do things we wouldn't normally do. You know, for the sake of respecting others' cultures."

"I do not."

"Yeah, right." Sam's snort filled the room with a resonance heretofore unknown. "I'm going to have to disagree with you, there."

"What?" Blue eyes huge, Daniel ducked his chin to look across the table at his team mate. "What are you talking about?"

"You make us do things all the time." She canted her head to one side. "In the interest of 'respecting other cultures'."

"Like what?" Steepling his brows, Daniel peered across the table at the Major.

"You said, 'Anthropologists do it all the time', right Daniel?" Sam sat back in her chair. It was her turn to fold her arms over her midsection. "'They dress and eat like the people they're studying.' And then you made me wear that stupid blue dress."

"I didn't make you wear anything."

But she went on as if Daniel hadn't spoken. "And because I was wearing the stupid blue dress, that little dillweed Abu kidnapped me and sold me off like a prize heifer."

For a long, long time, Daniel merely sat staring at the center of the table as if it held the secrets to the universe. Finally, he nodded—once. "Okay. I'll give you that one."

"Yeah, you'll give her that one." The Colonel thunked a knuckle on the table. "Just like you're taking the fall for this one."

"I'm taking the fall?"

"You're the one that didn't fart! You were the one that offended Bel Air—"

"Bellard." Sam corrected automatically.

"Bellard. Which in turn offended Minwax—"

"Minrose." This time it was Teal'c.

"Minrose." O'Neill's nostrils flared. "Which made him take the trade agreement that we'd worked so hard on and chuck it!"

"He trashed the trade agreement?" The General pushed his chair back a little, leaning wearily forward, his arms braced on the briefing room table. "All because Dr. Jackson failed to pass gas on cue?"

"Yep." Jack sat back again, hands lax on his thighs. "Because Daniel was fartless."

Sam sighed, reaching up to brush her bangs back off her forehead. "In all fairness, sir, we might be able to salvage things. Minrose told me that he would talk with his wife and see if she would relent on her dislike of us. We left him with a radio, thinking that he could send us a message that way if he's able to reason with her."

"How likely is that?"

"Oh—not very." The Colonel shook his head, his jaw tight. "She was really peeved."

Hammond sighed. "Well, people. I don't have to tell you how disappointed I am to hear this."

"I know, sir." Sam ducked her chin. "We were all hoping for a better outcome."

"I guess that there's nothing else to be done until Minrose decides to contact us." Standing, the General retrieved his file from where he'd laid it on the table. "Why don't you go and get changed and go on home. We'll reach you if we hear from him."

The four of them stood, awkwardly, turning towards the door and freedom.

"Hold up, team."

Turning, they looked back at where the General stood near the door to his office.

"If Minrose calls. And if he wants you back." With a deliberate glare, Hammond huffed his chest up a bit before going on. "You are to report immediately to the commissary for a double helping of their green chile and chicken enchiladas."

The Colonel was the only one brave enough to ask. "Sir?"

"After a plateful of that stuff, I can't even put on my shoes without letting loose." Hammond grinned, rubbing his abdomen. "Sounds like y'all could use that kind of help."


	8. Pranks for Nothing

_Another Gateworld inspiration. Trinity3 asked if Sam were to play an April Fool's prank on Jack, what might it be? My husband actually came up with the idea, and then my sordid little mind took off from there. I've been trying to decide whether to post this one—it's got a slightly different humor to it—but trinity3 asked me to, so I told her I'd think about it. I think it fits best within the Team Building sphere, so here it is._

_Set during Season 6._

**Pranks for Nothing**

"Really?"

The voice was familiar-exuberantly earnest-to the point of obnoxious. Jonas. The only person capable of speaking in that tone without it seeming fake. But Jack knew that Jonas Quinn was always completely truthful-and always completely up front. No false interest there.

Still—he'd sounded so aghast that Jack stopped just on the other side of the wall, shouldering up against the opening into the commissary so that he couldn't be seen on the other side of the door. He'd been looking for pie. Apple, or cherry, or even boysenberry. Something fruity and sweet. Ironic, then, that the first person he'd run into was Quinn. Jonas Quinn was both fruity and sweet, but not in the pie way.

"Really. I kid you not. Janet just told me. Isn't that wild?" Carter, obviously deep within in her uber-scientist mode. Her tone said more than her words—she sounded both scandalized and intrigued.

"I'm surprised that Teal'c didn't tell you that kind of thing was even possible."

"Well, I'm sure that he wouldn't consider it to be a problem, seeing how his symbiote protects him from this kind of—" the Major's voice trailed off as she apparently searched for the right word. "Um—damage."

"Pretty nasty side effect, right?"

"I'd say so."

"Wow." A pause, then Jonas' voice came through the doorway again. "That's just—_wow_."

Jack scowled, wondering exactly what they were talking about. He hadn't really wanted to spend his lunch break discussing random science with his team—especially if said science came from Janet Fraiser, who didn't appear to think that anything really valuable could possibly come from a needle smaller than an Oldsmobile.

Carter paused before answering. "I know."

Jonas made a considering noise through his nose. "Does it have the same effect on women as men?"

"The studies don't show anything at all to confirm that. It seems to affect primarily the male organs."

A sigh. Long, drawn-out, and deliberate. Jack could just envision the Kelownan's face—worried, brows arched, lips tight. "Well, then. I guess I'll have to take care to avoid that little event, then, won't I?"

"To what event do you refer, Jonas Quinn?"

"Teal'c!" Jonas greeted their other team member with his usual enthusiasm, and a scrape of chair legs on the concrete floor of the commissary demonstrated his movements. He'd scooted over—as usual—allowing Teal'c his favorite spot on the north side of the table. "Comfortable?"

"Indeed I am, Jonas Quinn." A heavy settling indicated that Teal'c had lowered himself onto his seat. "Although it is not necessary for you to move every time I arrive late for a meal."

"No problem—really. I don't really get attached to specific seats like you do." Jonas sipped from his omnipresent cup of coffee. "Besides. I have a few questions for you."

Mild crunching—Teal'c had started with carrots, as usual—followed by a loud pause as he swallowed. "I will answer whatever queries you may have."

"Well, it's about this report that Doctor Fraiser released today."

Teal'c's expression must have been one of confusion, because Carter spoke next.

"You know—the one about Zat gun blasts and their effects on human male physiology."

More crunching. Then sipping—probably the first of the Jaffa's normal four glasses of water. "Doctor Fraiser consulted with me about her findings. I must admit that I found them to be troubling."

"So, you're worried about what negative effects you've suffered?" Jonas—his tone commiserating.

"No. I am not." Teal'c paused, and Jack could imagine his expression—the one that said he was thinking. Only slightly different than the one that said he wasn't thinking. But it was all about nuance with this guy.

"I would have thought that your symbiote would protect you from any of these kinds of issues."

"My symbiote does protect me. I have been hit with zat blasts many times, and I have never found my performance to have suffered in any way."

_Performance? What performance?_ Surely they weren't talking about—Jack glanced down at his feet, then ran a hand through the mess that was his hair before leaning even more closely towards the door.

"So, who would have been the most adversely affected on base?" Jonas, still, his voice as honestly questioning as ever, until his tone trailed off into a worried, "Oh."

"Yep. He's been zatted more than everybody else combined." Carter again, in total seriousness.

"So—he's probably—"

"Most likely."

Funereal. Their tones sounded as if they were talking about a loved one who had died a horrible, ignominious death.

Hearing a noise behind him, Jack stepped back from the door as a trio of airmen approached the opening. They paused and acknowledged him, their expressions ranging from startled recognition to pity. Jack's eyes narrowed back at them as he dismissed them with a curt nod. As soon as they were through the door, he pressed his body back against the cool concrete wall.

"Wow. That explains a lot."

A low hum escaped from the Major. "I know. Poor man."

"And yet it does not seem to have affected his ability to fight. He is a warrior, his lack of ability in his own quarters notwithstanding."

_Own quarters? Lack of ability?_ Jack could feel himself pale, could feel the color drain straight out of his face and pool around his feet.

"Still. Teal'c's right. Colonel O'Neill seems to be very healthy otherwise, even though he's older. That's got to be hard for a guy."

"Or _not_." Carter said this, followed immediately by a slap of skin on skin—her hand over her mouth? And then, incongruously, a giggle. "Oh, geez. I can't believe I just said that."

Jonas voice carried a smile. "Well, he wasn't here to hear you, so I doubt you'll be in too much trouble."

"By the way—have you seen him yet this morning?"

Jonas sipped again. "Nope. But then. If he's read the report, he may not want to be around today. I mean—with everyone talking and all—"

"I know what you mean. We're even sitting here talking about it, and he's on our team."

"And what have we spoken but the truth?" Teal'c spoke from around another mouthful of food. "He has been wounded in the course of performing his duties. He cannot hope to hide it."

"But still. He's such a vital man. And his divorce has been final for a while. You'd think that he'd want to have a relationship eventually. That kind of side effect would make it—well—difficult."

"Has the Colonel been involved with anyone since you've known him?"

"Kynthia of Argos." Teal'c seemed to relish this tidbit. "She was most buxom."

A long pause followed, and then Carter cleared her throat. "There was a woman on another planet where he was stuck for a while. But that was before he'd been zatted so many times. I don't think there's been anyone since then."

"He rebuffed the advances of the Tok'ra Anise." Teal'c spoke thoughtfully. "Perhaps he was already having difficulty at that point."

Jonas shifted in his seat—now the one closest to the door. "Maybe that's why he hasn't found anyone new. Because now he—_can't_—you know?"

Silence as the other members of SG-1 mulled this over. Then Carter spoke again. "You've got a point, Jonas. He's a proud man. This would be something he might be ashamed of."

"Even if it was injuries sustained in the heat of battle?"

"I believe that a man such as O'Neill would find the loss of a limb less debilitating than this particular infirmity."

"I agree."

"Absolutely."

They'd spoken at the same time, Jonas and Carter. And then silence reigned at the table for a few, taut moments before Teal'c spoke again. "Perhaps we should not speak of the issue again—to spare O'Neill the shame that he must be feeling."

"You're right, of course." This from a guilty-sounding Carter. "He should be here any minute. No sense reminding the guy that he's no longer the man he used to be."

"Do you not remember the briefing that was held this morning?" Teal'c again. "I believe that the majority of the staff at the SGC must have come to the same conclusion as we."

"About the Colonel?" Carter's voice was barely audible. "You think that everyone knows?"

"I do."

Another long pause, punctuated by the Major again. "Poor man."

"Well, regardless." Jonas sipped his coffee again-meditatively. "I'm thinking I'll just stay away from Zat blasts from now on. I certainly don't want to end up little more than a eunuch."

-OOOOOOOOOO-

Jack stood upright, pushing himself away from the wall. _Eunuch? Infirmity?_ What the hell were they all talking about? _Report_?

It was a new medical report of some sort.

Medical. Fraiser. Infirmary.

He eschewed the elevator in favor of the stairs. Depending on how many people had already read this fabled report, he didn't need to overhear anyone else's conversations until he'd heard the information directly from the horse's—er—doctor's mouth.

The infirmary was quiet, unusually so. There was no one—not even Siler—in any of the beds. Jack made his way through the place until he arrived at Fraiser's office. Dark and still, the only sound was the low mechanical whirr of the fan in her computer. Her screen saver—a dancing needle—made its way methodically across her blackened monitor, and a single folder sat propped against the keyboard.

He looked behind him before leaning in and scanning the folder's label.

"_Zat Blasts and their Detrimental Effects on Male Physiology."_

Well, crap.

Looking over his shoulder again, he used a single finger to flip the folder open. A lone page lay inside, attached to the inside part of the folder with a silver clamp of some sort. Jack squinted to read the small letters.

Well, skimmed. He didn't read everything, but he'd definitely captured the salient points.

"_Irreparable damage to the vas deferens from repeated jolts of alien energy . . ."_

"_Over time, distinct shrinkage of the corpora cavernosa was noted . . ."_

"_Ultimately, the most affected patients exhibited chronic and widespread nerve dysfunction, shrinking of vital arteries, and diminished hormone supply . . ."_

Jack could feel his palms getting all clammy, so he made his way quickly down the page to the concluding paragraph.

"_In short, subjects who have been Zatted more than twenty times will experience a major disruption in their normal ability to achieve and maintain full male performance. Those most affected will almost certain be affected with complete E.D., compounded by a loss of testosterone caused by injured and diminished testicular activity. In the future, it is recommended that medical personnel keep a detailed accounting of times and places in which one is the victim of a Zat blast, as well as the area of the body in which the energy was most concentrated, in order to remove those soldiers from active duty who may be most at risk. In this way we may be able to mitigate the damage."_

Double Crap.

No longer caring whether Fraiser appeared in her office, Jack sank down into the good doctor's chair, leaning back with a withered sigh. Of all the confounded bad luck. His knee had long since lost integrity, he couldn't seem to drop the eight pounds he'd gained since he'd turned forty, and he had a pain in his left shoulder that wouldn't go away. Just yesterday, he'd found a zit—_a zit!—_in his right ear, and compounding all of that, the last of his chest hair had gone gray last month.

And now this.

He tried to doubt the findings, but failed. Even if he'd had the inclination to test out Fraiser's theory over the past few years, he certainly hadn't had the opportunity, and now—Jack sighed again, rolling his eyes. They'd held a cotton-picking _briefing_ on the subject?

_Son of a—_

Heels tapping on the concrete floor brought him out of his misery. Looking up, he saw the familiar diminutive figure of Doctor Fraiser standing in the doorway of her office.

"Colonel O'Neill."

"Doc."

Her quick eyes made short work of the scene, noting the folder open on her keyboard. "I see you read the report."

"Most of it."

Her full mouth turned downward. "If it helps at all, I'm sorry."

"No offense, Doc, but that doesn't help."

She took a few steps further into her office. "Now, I don't want you to be completely disheartened by this. I believe that there may be treatments that might help you."

"Treatments?"

"Yes—therapies. Physical and otherwise."

Jack snorted. "Like what?"

"Well." Janet turned and perched a hip on her desk. "Psychological help may be most beneficial."

"So now I'm crazy as well as—" He couldn't quite bring himself to say the words.

"Impotent?" Oh, so understanding. Her tone could have soothed Genghis Khan.

"You just had to say it, didn't you?"

Her large brown eyes looked down on him with concern. "Colonel, you're going to have to come to terms with this ailment. I'm sorry, but I've never known you to run from a fight. Consider this a new battle that must be won."

Jack leaned forward in the chair and fingered the edge of the manila folder. "That's kind of hard to do when you're—"

"Shooting blanks?"

Snapping his eyes back up to her face, Jack scowled. "How can you possibly shoot blanks if your barrel's—"

She didn't even pause this time. Fraiser's answer was immediate. "Wonky?"

The Colonel's eyes narrowed further. "Is that a strictly clinical term, Doc?"

"Okay—how about 'loosey-goosey?" She actually used her fingers as quotation marks.

"How about we both shut up?"

To her credit, the good doctor did just that, her lip pursing tightly together. Jack deepened his scowl and glared at the offending folder again.

"Janet?" Carter's voice came from the infirmary, then boot leather on concrete signaled her entry into the office area. "Are you in here?"

Without taking her eyes off of O'Neill, the doctor called, "Sam? In my office."

"Hey—Jan—have you seen—" The Major came around the corner and stopped short, her eyes going immediately past the Doctor to rest on the Colonel in the chair. "Oh. You have."

The object of her search snapped at her. "What do you want, Carter?"

"Well, um." The Major looked superbly uncomfortable. Shifting on her feet, she glanced from the Colonel to the Doctor and then back to the Colonel. "When you didn't show up for lunch, I was just wondering what had happened to you."

"I've been here."

"Oh?" The monosyllabic answer seemed too bright.

"Reading." He raised a hand and indicated the manila folder. "Interesting stuff. You might get a kick out of it."

Sam worried at her lower lip with her teeth, her eyes a conflicted mess of worry. Shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her BDU pants, she breathed in deeply before answering. "I'm sorry, sir. I know that this must be a blow to you."

"Sam?"

Aw, hell. Now Jonas, too.

Jack leaned back in the chair again, peering around the womenfolk to get a glimpse of the Kelownan man as he stopped just behind Sam in the office doorway. "Colonel. Doctor. Sam."

The Colonel rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. "Congratulations, Jonas, you know our names. You've earned a Brownie Point."

"Brownie point?"

Without looking behind her, Sam shook her head. "I'll explain it to you later, Jonas."

Heavier treads sounded in the infirmary, and the dark, large form of Teal'c stopped just behind Jonas. "You have found him."

"Yeah, Teal'c. He was in here. Reading."

"So, he has been informed of his malady?"

"Yeah—I'd say so, Teal'c." Jonas steepled his fingers on his hips, looking down at the Colonel with concern. "Are you okay, Jack?"

"Jack?" O'Neill's eyebrows soared.

Jonas shrugged. "This is a personal conversation. Wouldn't first names be more appropriate for this kind of discussion?"

Glaring at the Kelownan, Jack snorted. "They might, if I were going to discuss it with you."

Sam frowned, glancing from Jonas back to the Colonel. "Sir."

How was it that she could make that one syllable sound like a dressing down? Jack frowned back at her. "Well, I really don't want to talk about it. So why don't you guys just go and do whatever it was you were doing before this topic came up?"

"Well, it's not like the topic really came up, sir." Unbelievably, the corner of her mouth twitched.

"Yeah." Jonas shook his head. "In this particular instance, it doesn't sound like much is—um—doing that."

Sam nodded sagely. "You're right, Jonas. Nothing much at all."

"We were just sitting around talking, wondering where you'd gotten to."

"Thought you might need a pick-me-up."

"Figured you might be feeling down."

"Deflated, perhaps."

"A little low."

"Droopy."

O'Neill grunted. "Okay—that's really enough, people."

Another nod from Carter, and then she stood upright, folding her arms across her midsection. A golden brow rose over one blue, blue eye as she looked at the rest of her team. "We should really try to be more understanding, guys. Especially since last week."

Jack frowned. "Last week?"

Her gaze returned to him. "You know—last week. When you helped Jonas with his training."

Smiling, Jonas gestured at Jack with an upturned hand. "It was so nice of you to offer to help me to understand Earth culture, Colonel."

Earth culture? _Ah—Earth culture._ Jack's eyes eased closed, only to open with a hard look at Carter, who was staring down at him with a steadily bland expression.

"You know, sir. When you took him on the snipe hunt."

Jonas' eyes flew wide. The picture of innocence. "Now, how was I to know that there are no such things as snipe?"

"Or that they didn't live deep in the mountains above the base?" Sam stepped forward, around Janet, so that she stood directly in front of the Colonel. "Or that they didn't need to be hunted by a single person—alone—in the middle of the night?"

Groaning, Jack lifted his hands to cover his face.

Sam's voice came again at him across the office. "Poor Jonas. Sprained ankle. Covered head to toe in mosquito bites. He'd fallen down after it had started raining and was caked in dried mud. And when he finally made it to the road, some passerby called the Sheriff because she thought he was some kind of dangerous, wounded animal. Luckily, Siler and Walters recognized him, picked him up on the side of the road and brought him back to base."

And dammit, behind his hands, Jack had to bite back a smile. Taking his life into his own hands, he spread his fingers to look directly at his second in command. "But it was funny. Come on, admit it."

"Oh, it was a hoot, Colonel." Jonas nodded, his grin widening. "I laughed about it as soon as the swelling went down in my face."

Spreading his hands, O'Neill made a scoffing noise. "It was just a little joke, Jonas."

"Funny. Great one, there, sir." Sam shifted her stance and lowered her chin. "Hilarious."

"Hey—I came and visited you in the infirmary." Jack pointed at Jonas. "You seemed just fine."

Carter shook her head. "You laughed when you saw how swollen he was. You were practically giggling about the Sheriff's involvement, and you guffawed when Jonas worried that he hadn't done it right because he hadn't found any snipe."

"Yeah, but—"

Teal'c shouldered in, then, his lips bowed slightly in a semblance of a smile. "I believe your exact words were that 'only a fool would have fallen for the whole snipe thing'."

"All in good fun." Jonas grinned, glancing backwards at Teal'c before returning his attention to the Colonel. "Isn't that what you said? You know, when I said that I was going to try to get you back."

Jack shrugged. "So?"

"And following that, you announced that nobody could possibly best you in pulling a prank." Teal'c's voice carried something—irony?—within its depths.

"Well, yeah—but—" With a sudden motion, Jack rose, turning towards his team. "That was just a joke. This—" he motioned at the folder on the desk. "_This_ is real. This isn't some stupid snipe hunt!"

Carter leaned over and grabbed the folder from where it still sat on the keyboard. "So, I take it you didn't read the entire report, did you Colonel?"

Lips thinned, Jack watched as she raised the folder again, turning the cover back and creasing it open. With a glance towards Janet, Jonas, and Teal'c, she held the document out for him to read.

He didn't really want to ask but found himself doing it anyway. "What are you talking about?"

"You probably just skimmed right past the date?"

He glanced at it now, then refocused on Carter, squinting slightly. "Yeah—April the first. So?"

"_April_ the _first_." Sam handed him the folder, then wheeled around, towards where the rest of their audience had already started out of the office. As she got to the door, she turned, fixing Jack with an expression that reeked of satisfaction. Tilting a hinted smile at the Colonel, her golden brows rose meaningfully as she looked at the dawn of understanding on his face. "So, who's the fool now, sir?"


	9. Does the Roller Help?

Does the Roller Help?

_This circumstance, sadly, is taken from my own life. Thinking it was amusing, I posted a photo on FB, and someone mentioned that it might make a funny story, so here you go. Of course, the title is liberally snurched (albeit slightly tweaked) from my all time favorite Sci Fi movie. _

_Extra points to the person who guesses which one. _

"So." Jack was staring intently into the depths of his coffee cup. It seemed to be his go-to place to gaze when there was something else much more interesting at which he wanted to look. His sidelong glance at Daniel flickered with wisely-hidden amusement. "Are you going to tell her?"

"Oh, good heavens, no." Daniel took a swig of his own morning brew. "I happen to _like_ being alive, thank you very much."

Jack scowled, first at Daniel and then at the table top, and then at the odd flower that sat in its skinny vase thingy smack dab between the salt and pepper. Because the sad, wilted weed really lent an air of freshness to the joint. Really perked things up. Right?

Not.

Around them, the usual commissary hubbub percolated, a cacophonous mix of talking and clanking utensils and banging lids of warming pans. After so many years, the Colonel had learned to tune it out. Some things were harder to ignore, however. His gaze flew back to the blond head that bobbed amongst the breakfast seekers. And the flash of pink that adorned it.

His shudder was completely involuntary. "Someone's got to."

"Then let it be Teal'c." There was a note of amusement in the archaeologist's voice. "He's bigger than both of us."

"True." Jack picked at the donut that sat on his largely untouched tray. "She likes him best of all of us, too."

"Well, duh." Daniel was struggling not to stare at her, too. He had developed an unnatural interest in the tiny bottle of Tabasco sauce that sat with the rest of the crap in the center of the table. "Everyone likes Teal'c best."

"Plus, there's that alien thing."

Pause. Daniel took another sip from his cup and turned towards the Colonel, his brows furrowed. "What alien thing?"

Deep brown eyes widened. "You know, the alien thing."

The eyebrows went deeper. "I'm sorry, I'm not following you."

Jack threw a quick look over his shoulder before leaning in towards his team mate. "If we get Teal'c to ask her about it, then she'll excuse him because he's an alien."

Nobody had ever accused Daniel of being stupid. Behind the glasses, his eyes glinted. "Because he's still learning about Earth culture and can therefore ask her about it without it seeming rude. He doesn't know any better."

"Because he's an—" Jack led the archaeologist along with a little flourish of his battle-worn hand.

"An _alien_. You know, Jack," Conspiratorially, Daniel grinned, his hair flopping as he shook his head. "Sometimes you are pure-freaking-genius."

Jack's lip twitched upward. "Yeah—I figured that one out a while ago. You gotta love the alien thing."

"To which thing not of Earth origin do you allude?"

The aforementioned Alien had arrived. Jack looked up at Teal'c, who stood holding a tray in one hand, and an entire bunch of bananas in the other. As the Jaffa sank down gracefully into his cafeteria chair, Jack eyed the fruit. "You know, Teal'c, if you're not careful, people are going to think you're a monkey."

It took a moment, but below the gold First Prime symbol, Teal'c's eyes narrowed in what could have been humor. "Because your earth's primates are said to enjoy this edible vegetation as much as do I. Therefore, if I continue to consume them in large quantities, someone might mistake me for that animal."

"It kind of loses its zing if you have to explain it, T."

Teal'c tore into his first banana. "I merely wished you to know that I both understood and appreciated your whimsical comment."

"I'm glad you thought it was funny." Jack pursed his lips, blowing out briefly before hitching up slightly in his seat and leaning across his own breakfast. "Hey, T."

"Yes, Colonel O'Neill?" The second banana was meeting its fate within Teal'c's large maw.

"Did you happen to see Carter over there?"

"In line to procure her breakfast?" Swallowing heavily, Teal'c reached for and popped open the first of several tiny cartons of milk on his tray. "I did see her. She was delayed in acquiring her meal for the commissary's lack of cooked eggs. I believe she chose to wait for more to be prepared."

"Right." Daniel peered at Teal'c over the rims of his glasses. "Did you happen to notice anything different about her today?"

Teal'c's jaws paused in their mechanical chewing. He swallowed again. "I did not. She seemed as hale and healthy as usual."

"Of course she is." Jack squinted. "But did you notice anything different about her hair?"

The Jaffa actually scowled, his look uncharacteristically confused. "Has she again changed her hairstyle?"

"I don't think so—"

Dark eyes soured. "Because in previous moments when she has appeared with a new coiffure, neither of you has seemed to notice."

Jack sputtered. "Yeah—but—"

"In those moments, it has fallen upon me to offer compliments." Teal'c picked up his knife and fork, glowering across the table at his teammates. "Even when there were none to be given."

"Well, we—"

"I do not enjoy telling falsehoods, O'Neill and Daniel Jackson. Even when the truth would surely displease the receiver."

Jack waved his hands towards his comrade. "I know—it's not a new haircut."

"I have no desire to lie again." The Jaffa's eyes were dangerously serious. "Especially not to as formidable a warrior as Major Carter."

Daniel nodded, reaching over and tapping Teal'c on the forearm. "Of course not. She hasn't changed her hair—she's just left something in it. That's the problem today."

"I am unsure of what you mean."

"A curler." Jack scratched at a patch of stubble he'd missed while shaving his chin. "She's left a curler in her hair."

"And what sort of object is this curler?

The Colonel gestured towards his forehead. "Just what it sounds like. It's a round thingy that women put in their hair to make curls."

"For what purpose?"

Daniel's eyes flew to Jack before returning to Teal'c. "Just what Jack said. To make straight hair curly."

"Why would Major Carter wish to do such a thing? She has never before shown even a vestige of vanity."

Jack's expression was one of genuine consternation. "Why do chicks do anything?"

Teal'c returned his attention to his breakfast, taking several bites of bacon before downing another carton of milk in a few swigs. "I do not believe that Major Carter would appreciate being referred to as a 'chick'."

O'Neill rolled his eyes and groaned. "You know what I meant, Teal'c."

Another banana disappeared into Teal'c's gullet. His lack of answer made for a surprisingly concise disapproving one.

"Listen." Jack hunched forward again. "I know that she'd kick me three ways from Sunday if she heard me call her a 'chick'. But I also know that if I prance up to her and mention the fact that she's still got a curler in her hair, she'd be embarrassed. She'd feel really, really stupid. It's not the kind of thing that Earth women like being informed of."

"Why not? If she no longer needs this curler to create the coiffure she desires, perhaps she would like to be told that the curler has thus rendered itself superfluous and should be removed."

Daniel made a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a groan. "Yeah. That's _not_ the way it works."

"Why not?"

"It just isn't. It's like make-up. Women are supposed to use it, but they aren't supposed to need it."

Jack added, "And it's not supposed to really be there—even if it's really obvious that it _is_ there."

"But does not make-up render the wearer more pleasant to look upon?"

"Sometimes." Daniel took point on this one. "And sometimes it's really badly applied and makes the woman look something like a clown."

"Like Brenda in motor pool."

"Oh—geez. With the blue eyeshadow—"

"And the lipliner—"

"And the foundation applied with a trowel—"

"Like Bozo on steroids."

Daniel's expression blanched. "Bless her heart."

Both Earthlings looked at each other and shivered.

Teal'c, midway through his third banana, scowled at his teammates. "Then would the female not appreciate a friend or co-worker taking them aside and telling them that their face paints are not attractive?"

"No."

"Hell no."

Jack and Daniel had spoken at the exact same time, but Daniel was the one that continued. "For someone to tell a woman that sort of thing—well, they have to be _really_ good friends."

"Or relatives—but friendly relatives."

"Close. Like—mother-and-daughter-who-don't-annoy-the-hell-out-of-each-other close."

"Or sisters."

"But only if one has never stolen the other's boyfriend."

Jack capped that information with a decided nod. "Yep. _That_."

Teal'c paused briefly in the application of copious amounts of brown sugar to his oatmeal to glare first at Daniel, and then at the Colonel. "Your world is indeed confusing."

Jack leaned back in his chair and threaded his hands behind his head. "Yeah, well. It's the women that muck things up. Guys are simple. Women are as complicated as wormhole theory."

Without expression, Teal'c dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. "Is that why you are not currently romantically involved with a woman, O'Neill? Because they are too complex for your understanding?"

To his credit, Daniel somehow managed to transform his guffaw into a cough. Still, he wisely didn't make any attempt to look at the Colonel.

"No." Jack's brows rose in innocence. "It's a time thing for me. Too busy."

This time, Daniel made no attempt to hide his snort. "You keep telling yourself that, Jack."

"Bite me, Daniel."

"Oh come on." Dr. Jackson's laugh was cheerfully derisive. "The only women you've gotten lucky with lately have been alien ones."

"That's _so_ not true."

"Really?" It was less a question than a statement.

"Really." Jack folded his arms across his chest. "I've had plenty of luck with Earth women."

"Do tell."

"Okay, Daniel. We'll share success stories." Jack angled a decidedly sardonic look at the Doctor. "You first."

"That's not the—I mean, we weren't—I wasn't—" Sputtering. Daniel finally offered a concessionary shrug. "Okay. I'll give you that one."

"Are you done with those plates, Sirs?" A commissary worker had paused next to their table with his bus cart. Jack handed over his empty plates and then watched as his friends did the same. Teal'c gathered his banana peels into the plastic garbage bag hanging at the front of the cart before sending several empty milk cartons in after them.

When the worker had gone, Teal'c studied the other men across the table with sincere intent. "With your lack of understanding regarding the female gender, it is somewhat surprising that either of you were ever able to convince a woman to enter into a contract of matrimony."

Jack sighed. "Getting them to marry you isn't the hard part."

"Nope." Daniel's agreement was instantaneous. "It's living with them afterwards that's difficult."

"Was not Sha're a desirable mate?"

Daniel fingered the salt shaker. "No—she was perfect. I loved being married to her."

"It's just the little things that women do. For example, Sara used to ask me my opinion on her clothing choices. You have to say _something_—you'd get in trouble if you told her you really didn't care, and neither would anyone else at the steak place, and could she just finish primping already because you were hungry." Jack's eyes went wide, and somewhat glassy. "But if they don't like your answer, they change their clothes, and by the time they're done, the restaurant is closing and you're stuck going to some drive through."

"And somehow it's your fault." Daniel grinned, remembering. "Sha're used to ask me if her clothing made her look fat."

"Because you could really tell if she was packing on the pounds beneath the burka."

"Well, it really wasn't a burka, per se."

"Bathrobe?" Jack waggled a finger in his ear. "Assorted draped rags?"

"Gown." Daniel shrugged. "There's an Abydonian word for it, but it basically just means 'dress'."

"That's beside the point." Jack's gray head moved slowly from side to side. "That question has ended more relationships than any other single thing in the entire history of humanity. There's no way to answer that question that doesn't result in somebody sleeping on the couch."

Dr. Jackson nodded in complete accord. "Or, in my case, a pallet at the front of the hut."

Teal'c, surprisingly, had inclined his own head in agreement. "I, too, was once consigned to sleep in a room other than that which I normally shared with my wife."

"How'd that happen?"

"Drey'auc had invited her parents to our home in order to celebrate the Festival of Pa'Shako."

At Jack's frown, Daniel translated. "Festival of Fertility."

"Ah." Jack nodded. "And you didn't like her parents?"

"Her mother and father were both congenial, and we enjoyed each other's company." Teal'c, apparently done with his breakfast, laid his fork and knife on his tray and pushed it towards the center of the table. "I merely asked her how we were to satisfactorily celebrate the Festival with her family in such close proximity to our quarters."

"Seems like a fair question."

"She got mad that you asked that?" The Colonel scratched at his ear. "Seems kind of harsh, if you ask me."

"Drey'auc did not become angered at the question itself. She objected to me asking it of her while her parents sat with us at evening meal."

"Okay." Jack lifted one shoulder in concession. "That's kind of awkward."

But the Jaffa wasn't done. "She became especially enraged that I reminded her of how boisterous she became during certain intimate activities, and how her parents might not enjoy their sleep disturbed by her incessant keening."

Daniel pursed his lips with a pained exhale. "Ouch."

"Yeah." Jack shook his head. "You're not coming back easily from that one."

"Indeed not." Teal'c sat back in his chair. "Salvation came two days later when Apophis commanded I leave on a particularly hazardous mission. Her fear for my safety eventually won out over her anger."

"So, even Jaffa women can be difficult."

"Indeed."

For a pause, the three men merely stared in unison at the wilted flower in the center of the table.

"Women."

"Can't live with 'em."

"And it is considered highly objectionable to dispense of a troublesome one with a blast of one's staff weapon."

Daniel leaned forward on the table, bracing himself on his elbows. "Which brings us—sort of—back to Sam."

"Yep."

"Indeed."

"So." Daniel grimaced. "Who's going to tell her?"

Silence.

Jack took the opportunity to scan the line for the Major, only to whirl back towards his buddies—too quickly—when he caught sight of the pink roller bobbing its way through the crowd and toward their table.

"Guys." Jack hissed from behind his hand, sinking down in his chair. "She's coming."

As if his chair had suddenly become equipped with an ejection seat, Daniel leapt to his feet. "Wow. Look at the time!" He waved his arm lamely in the air as if motioning towards his watch. "I had that thing. To do. With that thing. You know? Hey, Sam! Gotta run—but I'll talk to you later."

He had never moved faster in his life.

Jack watched him go, annoyed, but at the same time jealous that he hadn't thought of fleeing first.

Teal'c rose next, giving a slight bow in Sam's direction before unceremoniously striding off towards the same exit Daniel had taken.

Helpless, Jack watched him go, fighting fruitlessly to keep his dismay off his face.

Ever chipper, the Major stopped behind her usual chair. "Good morning, Sir."

"Carter." Jack smiled. He tried, and failed, not to look at the pink curler that still clung tenaciously to the hair at the crown of the Major's head. It just bobbed there like a plastic tiara. How could she not know it was there? How could she not feel it? Didn't she look in a mirror before leaving her house? "How's it hanging? I mean—how's stuff?"

"Good, thanks. Stuff is good." Sam put her tray on the table and sat. "I can't believe how long it takes them to make eggs around here."

"Yeah. Too long. Much too long. Ages." O'Neill tried to look her in the face, but could only see the roller dangling there atop her golden head. In desperation he lifted his mug of now-cold coffee and peered into its depths, hoping to find some reprieve within. Coffee grounds lacked the mystic abilities of tea leaves, however, and remained, silent and soggy, at the bottom of his cup. Damn. He raised his eyes to look at it—er—_her_—again, but could only see the roller on her head. Laughing at him. Double damn.

"I mean—you'd think they'd keep some cooking while people are in line, right? Always have them ready."

"Mmm." It was all the Colonel could muster with the curler staring at him. It was like it was alive. It was an evil curler, determined to taunt him. Several ways to broach the subject flew through his head, but none seemed right, or even plausible. He was failing. Drowning. Being done in by a cheerful pink Velcro roller. The stupid thing would succeed where the Goa'uld had failed. He was going to retreat in the face of insurmountable odds. Any guy would forgive him for this bit of cowardice, too. Of that he was certain.

Plunking his mug on the table, Jack practically leapt to his feet and mumbled something unintelligible about cleaning his P-90 before heading for the exit and the salvation that lay beyond.

-OOOO-

"So?"

Sam groaned, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the neatly folded bill she'd tucked inside an hour earlier. Placing it on the smooth surface of the commissary table, she slid it towards Janet, who had just lowered herself into the chair where Daniel had been sitting moments earlier.

"I can't believe they all chickened out."

"I _told_ you."

"I thought we were closer than that—I thought that we had gotten to a point where they could tell me anything."

Janet grinned and unfolded the twenty-dollar bill. "It's getting too easy, Sam. You're going to be broke soon."

"I mean—it was just a roller." Reaching up, Sam pulled the offending accouterment from her crown, then tousled the hair with her fingertips of her other hand. "It's not like I was leaking anything from anywhere."

Janet's smile radiated adorable cynicism. "Give 'em a break, there, girlfriend. They're _men_."

"They're wusses." Sam grinned, leaning forward to balance her chin on her upturned palm. "You should have seen their faces."

"I tried to look at them, but I didn't want them to think something was up."

"It was classic." Sam's blue eyes twinkled. "They looked like they were terrified of this curler. Like I'd grown an extra boob on top of my head or something."

"Even Teal'c?"

"Especially Teal'c." Sam rolled her eyes. "I think they must have filled him in."

Janet giggled. "I'll say it again. I _told_ you."

"I know. I know!" Sam picked up her fork before offering a resigned sigh. "Unbelievable."

Janet used a knife to carefully pry apart the halves of her bagel. "You know, this really is kind of mean."

Snorting slightly, Sam nodded as she raised a helping of scrambled eggs to her lips. "Oh, it's totally cruel. But it's also fun."

"You have a mean streak in you, Samantha Carter."

"Just a little one." Shrugging, the Major looked across the table at her friend. "I think I get it from my dad."

The doctor shook her head as she smothered her bagel with cream cheese. "So, what's next?"

"Well." Sam tore open a tiny cup of creamer and poured it into her coffee. Stirring it with a tiny red straw, she bit her lip slightly before answering. "I think I'm going to pull out the big guns this time."

Janet scooted her chair closer to the table and hunched forward, supporting her weight on her elbows. "This sounds good."

"Oh, it's going to be." Sam's eyes went wide. "Want to raise the stakes? Say, fifty bucks this time?"

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"So, what's the bet?"

"I win if they give me any answer at all. You win if they run away like the cowards that they apparently are without saying anything."

"Okay." Janet's teeth flashed in a conspiratorial smile. "What's the plan?"

Lifting a single brow, the Major quirked a shoulder skyward. "I'm going to ask them if my BDUs make me look fat."


End file.
